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Claire gazed at her fingers, then turned the knob to the pop channel again. “Okay, but I’ll warn you now — I love to sing, too.”

“I’m okay with that. Besides, we’re going to see Saturday Night Fever ,” he said, pulling his cover story back in place. Keeping his mind straight of what he was supposed to like — what Thomas liked — was exhausting.

He imagined being one of those secret agents, like James Bond, then quickly decided how lonely that life would be. Worse, how did double-agents keep up with the deception? How did they tell the woman they loved who they were?

“We definitely are! I’m so excited!” Claire said, then hummed along with the song.

Adam waited for the lyrics to repeat. Had he heard them right?

“ … in this world of people, there’s only you and I … There ain’t nothing come between us in the end . How can I hold you when you ain’t even mine ?”

He gripped the steering wheel. Dear God, how am I going to make it through the night when even song lyrics are calling me out ?

* * *

Adam pulled up to the last available spot in the front row and killed the engine. He hesitated before getting out. This wasn’t what he’d planned. He’d hoped to hide in the back. What if someone recognized the truck?

He needed to stop this. Constantly looking over his shoulder was no way to live. Definitely not the Alaskan way.

Maybe this space was better. More space. More room to breathe. He lowered the tailgate, grabbed the lawn chairs, and set them up just in front of the bumper.

Claire hopped out, already moving things around. “I figured we’d sit lower… in case we want to move around, you know.” She grinned, her cheeks already flushed with excitement. “This okay?”

“Perfect,” he said — and meant it. “I’ll get snacks. What do you like? Hotdogs? Popcorn? Candy?”

Claire scrunched up her face. “Sorry. Eww … on the hotdogs. I don’t eat meat. Popcorn’s great! Won’t bother me if you have one, though.”

“Got it.” He smiled and jogged off, anxious to get back to Claire. He wanted to soak up every second with her. After what he’d seen in his short life, he knew how quickly things could change.

On his way back, the theater lot suddenly fell silent.

The lively animated voices during the intermission, and the cacophony of movie-goers moving about and partying with friends simply stopped.

The movie had started.

Unlike many movies that began with a wild car chase or guns blazing, utter silence fell heavy over the theater grounds.

Beside him, a woman asked, “Are you sure the speaker’s on?”

“It was just on,” replied the man next to her. “It wouldn’t just stop.”

Multiple “ Shhhs…” came from all directions.

Adam stared at the scene, watching as the camera panned out. He’d never seen so many buildings. Yeah, he’d seen big cities in TV shows, but not like this. Not on the big screen.

Like the forest coming to life after a storm, shrill urban sounds echoed from the hundreds of tinny speakers clipped on car doors.

Adam’s world in Alaska, he realized, was quiet. How did people live in places like that?

Engines. Horns. Screeching trains.

If he hadn’t been carrying popcorn and sodas, he might have clapped his hands over his ears.

Thump - thump - thump - thump . The unmistakable beat of Stayin’ Alive filled the lot.

Adam watched Travolta strut down the busy sidewalk like he owned it, hips cocked, head high.

Without thinking, Adam matched the actor’s pace, strutting across the gravel like he belonged on that screen. A few people hooted from nearby trucks. Claire turned and caught him mid-stride, her eyes lighting up.

By the time he reached her, she’d moved both chairs even closer to the screen. The tailgate was down. Claire had made room — for something else.

He handed her the popcorn. “You like front-row seats, huh?”

“I want the whole experience.”

The next track kicked in — Night Fever . Travolta was picturing the club — the moves Claire had been doing — as he prepped to go out. Adam’s fingers tapped against the soda cup. His feet shifted with the tempo. The rhythm was too strong to ignore.

He stood up.

Claire laughed. “Knew you couldn’t resist long.”

“I didn’t think I’d —” He stopped. Didn’t matter. She already knew.

Somehow, deep down, he knew there was no way Claire had forgotten his name. Or confused him for Thomas… even though he’d certainly tried to secure the lie.

She lifted her hands to him. “Dance with me?”

He reached for both, pulling her to her feet.

Right there, behind the tailgate, the two of them moved together.

Not rehearsed, not flashy — just in sync.

When the club scene started on the screen and Disco Inferno hit, other couples drifted forward to join them.

By the time More Than a Woman played, the entire section beneath the screen had filled with people swaying to the music.

Some couples tried the Hustle; others just held each other.

A group of older teens had pretty much nailed the line dance.

Adam and Claire froze, inches apart.

Their eyes locked.

Her breath caught.

He leaned in —

A loud cheer cut through the air. Bigger than life, Travolta twirled a new woman who wasn’t his partner across the floor. Seemed pretty obvious that, like Claire, many of these movie-goers had seen the flick more than once.

Claire looked toward the screen, her smile inching up slightly.

She looked expectant, like when she’d called him from the stall earlier using her Stableboy remark.

Off her lips, the word that should have been a slur was an endearment.

Her way of accepting him he realized. No doubt, she’d heard her father call him Muckboy, but still, she’d always gone out of her way to stand near him.

During class activities… that fateful night at The Pitts when he’d looked down from the truck and saw her… really saw her .

Adam felt a shift. A sudden tension in her spine. She stared at the scene, waiting, even as Travolta was speaking about as rudely to a woman as he’d ever heard. Actually, he’d never heard any guy talk to a girl like that. Not even Jeff, and he was one of the roughest guys he knew.

Adam didn’t ask. Didn’t press. Still, he wondered… What was Claire waiting for?

What about this scene had captured her undivided attention?

Then, You Should Be Dancing kicked in. His favorite song.

Claire’s hand brushed his. Her voice was barely a whisper, right at his ear. “You dance so much better to this song than he does. Let me see you .”

His heart stuttered. She knew.

Claire absolutely knew.

And she wasn’t mad. She wasn’t questioning him.

Her request was all he needed to be himself. His heart felt lighter, released.

Adam grinned, then launched himself onto the tailgate, hopping up and breaking into a full solo routine — his version of Travolta’s strut mixed with whatever came naturally. The gathered dancers near the front of the drive-in clapped.

One older woman whistled. Was that his second-grade teacher? He turned the shiver that crept down his spine into a move.

Onscreen, he saw Travolta’s version of Gopak dancing and laughed. “That’s not the way , uh-uh , uh-uh ,” he sang. He had plenty of Slavic friends. Encouraged by them and his brothers, and even his mother, he had practiced the moves for years.

Adam moved into deep Kazotsky squat kicks in the back of the truck, then did a full toe-touching jump his brothers had always called the RUSSIAN right off the back of the truck, his landing, a perfect ten.

Claire rushed to him, laughing.

She rose on tiptoes and whispered, “Thank you, Adam. I don’t know why you’re hiding, but I promise I won’t tell.”

He gathered her to him without thinking. He didn’t kiss her — he wanted to, but he didn’t. Not yet. No way would he allow their first kiss to be in front of God and everybody, like Rusty had said.

Adam released her, keeping hold of her hand as they walked back to the chairs.

Claire had set the stage, and gotten exactly what she’d hoped for.

Yeah, she’d wanted to see the movie — although, other than the great music, he wasn’t impressed.

The movie was exceedingly raw. His father had never talked that way to his mother, and neither of his parents had ever hit him or his brothers.

The mood changed. Adam felt the stillness in the scene, recognized the lack of music. He turned to the screen, pulling Claire closer.

Whenever the music stopped, something rough or bad was about to go down.

Travolta and his fancy dance partner were in the car. One second they were making out, then Travolta made a move — the move. Not just the move , but a forced move.

Rusty’s words went through Adam’s head again. Right there in front of God and everybody .

“What the — ?” Adam stared down at Claire. “Isn’t that Stephanie, the one he’s been trying to impress this whole time? The one he supposedly respects? And now he’s treating her like —” He didn’t even have a word for what he was seeing. What kind of man did that to someone he cared about?

Claire trembled. “Yeah.”

Neither did Claire based on her one-word answer. She’d told Adam she missed half of the movie. She hadn’t seen this part.

Her body turned rigid in his arms. “No,” she said softly, but it wasn’t to him.

Adam looked toward the screen and felt bile rise in his throat. “Come on, honey. I’ll take you home.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed their stuff, shoved the chairs in the bed, opened the passenger door, and guided Claire inside.

They drove in silence. The big screen cast flickers of orange and gold across the windshield.

As they reached the exit, Adam pointed toward the marquee. “ The Goodbye Girl starts next weekend. It’s rated PG, not R.” He glanced at her. “The song is great. Lead singer of Bread . If it’s okay with you, I’d like to come back and watch that one… with you.”