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He popped the top off another beer and slid it across the table. “Tomorrow night, there’s a barn dance near the lodge. You coming with me?”
“A barn dance? Which century are we in?”
“C’mon, Princess. It’ll be fun. We’ll take some video and call it research. You won’t let me teach you to swim. At least let me teach you to two-step.”
He was William, and if she wasn’t mistaken, he’d asked her on a sort-of date. Her inner-teenager was breakdancing at the idea. “Fine. I’ll go. But I don’t know how to dance.”
His finger traced the ring on her hand. “Luce, the thing you’re not getting is I’m an exceptional teacher. And I know how to do all kinds of fun things.”
She bet he did, especially since he had spent a summer practicing with half the female population of Florida.
* * *
Two more beers and several more rounds of Confessions erased all of the gruesome ways to die from her memory. He had rolled a sleeping bag on the floor, and she burrowed under the covers on the bed. The dark cabin was eerily quiet without any city noise.
“Will?” she called.
“Yeah, Luce?” His voice was relaxed, throaty.
“I had fun tonight,” she said in his direction.
“Me, too.” It sounded like he punched at his pillow.
She bunched the blankets at her chest. “How’s the floor?”
“Smells like dog piss. How’s the bed?”
“Smells like clean sheets.” Not thousand-thread-count sheets, but they weren’t awful. She adjusted her own pillow.
He sneezed.
She stared at the ceiling, willing sleep to come. What had she gotten herself into? What did a guy like him wear to bed? Was he a boxers kind of guy or a nothing kind of guy? Her belly fluttered with a craving not even chocolate cake would fix.
He sneezed again. “You okay, Will?”
“Allergic to dogs. Given the smell down here, whoever owns this rental brings their dog along when they visit.”
“Will? How do you feel about a pillow line?” She sat up and leaned over the bed, her eyes finally adjusting.
“A what?” He faced the ceiling, his hands resting on his chest.
“You know, a pillow line? I let you come up here, but you can’t cross the pillow line.”
Didn’t everyone know about the pillow line?
“Is that a thing?” It was dark, but she could practically see the devil’s-smile he must’ve had.
“It’s an Amish thing.”
“It’s not an Amish thing.” He rubbed his hand over his eyes, and the sleeping bag rustled as he sat up.
“Fine, you’re right. It’s a Lucy thing.” She tossed the covers back and scooted to the other side of the bed.
“To be clear, you’re inviting me into your bed?” he asked.
She sucked in a heated breath, and not even double-fudge chocolate cake would overpower her craving now.
He sneezed again.
