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A laugh escaped me. “You didn’t. I’ve never met anyone else pretending to be killed by an invisible murderer in the lake.”

I liked how he flushed.

“Anywaaaay.” He drew the word out in an obvious and comical way. “I’m from Akron, Ohio, and I still live there for some reason. I don’t have any siblings, and my mom passed away when I was in high school. My dad, who is currently going through a dapper old man phase, lives in Toledo.”

“A dapper old man phase?”

Adam rolled his eyes. “He’s started wearing suspenders and a paisley neckerchief.

Like, what are you supposed to say to that?

I told him if he even thinks of getting some sort of jaunty hat, I’m going to file for conservatorship, since he clearly can’t be trusted to make rational decisions anymore. ”

“And what did he say to that?”

Adam grinned. “Something along the lines of how he helped bring me into this world, so he can take me out of it again.”

“Sounds like you two get along.”

“We do,” he said with a warm smile. “Honestly, I miss the hell out of him since he moved to Toledo, but that’s where he grew up, and he wanted to retire there.”

Dinner was excellent, and not just the food.

I didn’t date because I wasn’t good at it.

I always felt awkward and out of place, as though I had to prove something to the guy sitting across the table from me.

I didn’t get that feeling with Adam. Maybe it was because I’d already proved something to him—he’d raved about the cabin—but I also got the impression Adam wasn’t interested in judging me by the job I had or the money I earned or anything like that.

It seemed as though all that mattered to him was that we were enjoying each other’s company.

Although, that could have been wishful thinking on my part, because I was having more fun tonight more than I thought I would, and I really hoped that Adam would agree to a second date.

Dessert was pie and ice cream. It was nothing special, just straight from the grocery store freezer section, but we went and ate it on the porch swing, which made it magical.

“Question,” Adam said, scraping his spoon against his plate. “Why doesn’t the porch face the lake?”

“Well, I didn’t build the place. I only renovated it.”

“Then you need to add on a back porch,” he said firmly.

“It’s actually on the list.”

“Really?” he asked with a smile.

“Yeah, I mean the view of the lake from the fire pit is great, but sometimes you want a porch swing, right?”

Adam pushed us into a gentle swing with his toes. “One hundred percent agreed.”

The night was alive with the sounds of crickets and cicadas. An owl hooted, and Adam gave a start.

“Barred owl,” I said. “There’s one that nests in those trees right there.”

“Barn owl?” he asked.

“No, barred. Barn owls screech, they can’t hoot like that. If you listen to a barred owl, you’ll hear him say, ‘Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?’”

The owl called again, and Adam laughed. “It really does sound like that!”

His laughter faded into a warm smile in the moonlight.

His gaze held mine, and the air around us suddenly seemed heavier as though the night was holding its breath.

When he reached out and brushed his fingertips across the back of my hand—such a small, gentle gesture—my heart tumbled over a few beats. We leaned in together.

Kissing Adam was the answer to a question I’d never asked aloud.

The soft pressure of his lips against mine was firm without being insistent.

His hand cupped my cheek as we leaned into one another.

Mine found his hip. Adam tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and opened his mouth.

My stomach fluttered as his tongue brushed mine, and my skin prickled as warmth filled my veins.

I’d never had a kiss that felt as right as this one. I wanted it to last forever.

“Who cooks for you?” the barred owl asked, and Adam’s smile broke the kiss.

He laughed softly against my shoulder before drawing back. “Who cooks for you all?” he asked along with the owl. He threaded his fingers through mine and squeezed. “Thank you for teaching me that.”

“Thank you for dinner.”

“You can cook for me next time.” There was both a challenge and a question in the way he lifted his chin.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m not much of a cook, though.”

“Well, I’m not much of an epicure,” he said. “So that works out perfectly. Honestly, frozen pizza from the grocery store is fine by me.”

“I think I can probably do better than that.”

“Then it’s a date,” he said, rising from the swing.

I stood as well. “Do you want a hand to clean up?”

“Nope,” he said. “I have a thorny plot point to figure out.” He laughed at my expression. “Trust me, it’ll help unstick the gears in my brain.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I am,” he said. “Oh, but wait here just a second.” He carried our plates inside, leaving the door open behind him.

Warm light spilled out from inside. Adam was back a moment later, holding a book.

It was too dark to be sure, but I thought it might have been one I’d seen on my coffee table earlier.

He pressed it into my hands. “No pressure,” he said, “but let me know what you think, okay?”

My chest squeezed, and my gut swooped as though the ground had suddenly dropped out from underneath me.

I was six years old again. I was ten. I was twelve.

I was an entire montage of my unhappy school days, feeling every set of eyes in the classroom on me after a teacher called my name, the first sharp claws of panic digging into me.

“No pressure,” Adam said again. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” I said, clutching the book to my aching chest. “See you tomorrow.”

And I turned and stepped off the porch into the darkness before he could tell there was anything wrong.