Page 46

“If it’s too much.” Her eyes glint in the darkness when they meet mine. “I don’t think you have to worry. My current drought is so epic that I don’t thinktoo muchexists for me right now.”

I nearly bite off my tongue. “I feel like I should be worried if that’s the case.”

“You worried I’m gonna climb you like a tree?” She twines our fingers again and smirks. “Remember, Wy, just tug on your ear if it’s too much.”

What would she do if I bent down right now and threw her over my shoulder? Put her back in the truck, ripped off that dress, fucked her like the world was ending?

“You got some mouth on you, sugar.”

“I’m not as sweet as I look, handsome.”

“I kinda likehandsome. Blond Bear Cowboy might be better?—”

“Who’s ever called you Blond Bear Cowboy?” Sally laughs, and my heart turns over.

“No one yet.”

“I’ll bet another fifty no one ever will.”

“You callin’ my bluff?”

She leans in, teasing. So close that I can smell the Cresttoothpaste on her breath. “Sure am, handsome. Hope you brought cash.”

We’ve both used the same kind of toothpaste ever since I puked my guts out in ninth grade during fifth-period study hall—classic case of the Jack Daniel’s flu—and Sally came to the rescue with a tube of Crest. I liked the way it tasted, so I asked Mom to buy me some. Been using it ever since.

Sally shivers again, and this time, I know it’s because of the cold. How long have we been standing out here? A minute? An hour?

I give her hand a gentle tug. “Let’s go. Feels better inside.”

“That’s a euphemism, isn’t it?”

“Everything that comes outta my mouth is a euphemism. Best get used to it.”

The annual Hartsville potluck and silent auction is already in full swing when we step through the barn doors. Sally gasps with delight as we take in the rustic barn of every wedding planner’s dream. Fairy lights are strewn across the roof, and the wooden support beams are wrapped in brightly colored fall foliage. Candles glint from the dozens of round tables that fill the space, each one draped in a dark red tablecloth and set with china. The smells of mulled cider and smoked pork fill the air.

Waylon Jennings plays over the speakers, and Tallulah is behind the nearby bar. I overhear her agreeing to do body shots with some patrons if enough money is raised tonight.

Can’t help but smile. This is Hartsville in a nutshell—a little bit classy, a lot country.

Guess you could describe Sally and me that way, too, if we were a real couple. Which we’re not, obviously. But we’re on theme without even trying.

Why do I get the feeling Mom is sending me another message? I’m not sure there is a heaven, but if there is, I hope she’s too busy having a damn good time up there to keep up with me.

The idea that she’s looking out for me from above makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, though.

There’s a makeshift coat rack to our right. I drop Sally’s hand and slip my fingers into the collar of her jacket, skimming her nape. “Let me take this.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

She unbuttons the front and rolls back her shoulders, allowing me to remove the jacket. It’s heavier than it looks, some kind of thick black wool. Makes sense she’d have a serious jacket for those serious New York winters. Why anyone would want to live in that frozen wasteland, I don’t know. I get why Sally doesn’t want to go back there.

“So youcanlisten,” I say, poking a plastic hanger into the sleeves of her jacket and hanging it on the rack.

She cuts me a withering look before turning her attention to her dress. She smooths it over her hips and thighs, giving it a gentle tug so that it puts her every curve on display.

My mouth goes dry. My best friend in a little black dress?—

It literally knocked the wind out of me earlier when I picked her up from her parents’ house. It’s fuckingkiller.