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  “Hey, Jess. You look—”

  “Let’s go.”

  I tried to use my grip on his hand to tug him toward the edge of the porch and away from the house, but he dug his heels in and didn’t move more than two steps.

  “Wait a minute, is your momma here?”

  “No, come on.” I turned back to Duane, issuing a look that I hoped conveyed urgency, but was stopped short when I saw him.

  I’m afraid my mouth fell open, a sure sign of my surprise, as my eyes moved over his form.

  He was dressed in dark jeans, boots, and a blue button-down shirt the exact same color as his eyes; he’d rolled his shirtsleeves up, which showcased his strong forearms. His beard had been trimmed short—super short—so that the line of his strong jaw was easily discernible.

  My goodness, but he was delectable.

  My attention snagged on a frothy cloud of white and I saw he was holding a bunch of flowers. My eyes moved between him and the flowers, and I’m sure I looked entirely confounded.

  “As I was saying,” Duane took a step toward me and I was struck by the sincerity in both his expression and tone, making me sway just a little at his ominous and heartfelt charm; he whispered, “you look beautiful, Jessica.”

  I think I smiled like a smitten simpleton, my eyelashes fluttering of their own accord. “So do you, Duane.”

  He smiled. It was small and magnetic. I took a mental snapshot; spending time with him confirmed my suspicion that Duane’s smiles were few and should be treasured.

  I swayed toward him again. “Did you get me flowers?”

  He shook his head, his voice still low. “No. These are for your momma.”

  “My mom—”

  “Don’t you leave yet!” Jackson’s voice thundered just as he appeared in the doorway, breaking our lovely moment. I couldn’t help myself, I huffed and rolled my eyes. I loved my big brother, but sometimes I wanted to cover him in honey and send him into a bear cave.

  Duane stiffened a little, but he didn’t retreat. He turned from me, his eyes narrowing, and said, “Jack.”

  I lifted an eyebrow at this. No one called my brother “Jack.” Everyone called him Jackson, or Officer James.

  “Duane.” Jackson crossed his arms over his chest; his expression and voice were mean. “I don’t much like you thinking you can take my sister out.”

  “Oh my God,” I said to no one and tugged on Duane’s hand again. “Just ignore him. Let’s go.”

  But Duane didn’t move. Instead he used our connected fingers to draw me closer while he and Jackson gave each other the evil eye.

  “This might come as a shock to you, Jack, but I’m not losing sleep over your good opinion. Now, are the Sheriff and Mrs. James at home?”

  Jackson’s eyes narrowed further. “Why?”

  “Because I’d like to pay my respects to the man and woman of the house before we step out.”

  Jackson flinched, his eyes widening as they moved up and down Duane.

  I took advantage of Jackson’s momentary speechlessness to answer Duane’s question. “No. Momma is still in Texas taking care of my aunt Louisa, and Daddy is on duty.”

  Duane glanced at me while I explained, and I thought I saw something like disappointment pass over his handsome features. His disappointment made me feel both guilty as well as warm all over with pleasure.

  He’d wanted to talk to my parents before we stepped out. Goodness.

  “Oh. Well then…” He frowned as he studied me, then turned back to my brother and pushed the bouquet of flowers into Jackson’s hands. “Go put these in water before they die.”

  Wordlessly, Jackson accepted the flowers, though he was still looking at Duane like he was something strange. I didn’t have a moment to dwell on any of this, because Duane pulled my hand into the crook of his elbow and escorted me down the front porch steps. We reached his car without another word between us and he opened the passenger side door. When he was satisfied I was settled, he shut the door and walked around the hood of his car.

  My eyes trailed him. I watched him walk. I loved how he walked.

  My heart didn’t know whether to sink or swim. All I could think about was that Claire had been right last Wednesday: Duane Winston was looking to court me—good and proper. And now that the evidence was unmistakable, I felt dichotomously dismayed and dazedly giddy by the prospect.

  Duane fired up the engine and it was in this dismayed and dazedly giddy haze that I passed the first few moments of our drive. I was quite literally shaken out of my self-reflections when Duane navigated a series of switchbacks with imprudent speed. Even though I was wearing my seatbelt, I slid in my seat to one side then the other.

  “Sorry,” he said, pressing gently on the brake to slow our velocity, then cleared his throat and offered by the way of an explanation, “I’m used to taking these roads fast. I didn’t mean to toss you around.”

  I braced my arm against the passenger side door. “It’s fine. I just…” I shook my head. “I just wanted to apologize for Jackson, the way he acted. He was being unfair and unkind and we had words earlier. I’m sorry about that.”

  Duane shrugged. “Well, he wouldn’t be much of a brother if he wasn’t overprotective. I feel the same way about my sister…” I got the impression he hadn’t quite ended his sentence and was proven right when he finally finished, “and my brothers.”

  Duane’s gaze flickered to mine and he gave me a hint of a smile. I melted a bit at his rare smile, and I felt myself relax against the seat.

  And that’s when I realized how comfortable the seat was.

  And that’s when I finally took the three seconds required to actually look at this car I was riding in.

  It was old, a classic of some sort. The upholstery was teal leather and the seat was a bench style, the kind that allowed a passenger to snuggle up close to the driver.

  “Duane Winston, what kind of car is this?”

  He was in profile but I saw his smile grow. “It’s a ’68 Plymouth Road Runner.”

  I studied the rest of the car, or what I could see of it. The two-door antique had a backseat, similar bench style to the front and everything was in pristine condition.

  “It’s kind of small for the time, isn’t it? I mean, weren’t most Plymouths built at that time big old land cruisers?”

  Duane’s hands tightened a bit on the steering wheel, his thumb caressing the inside of the circle. “It’s a muscle car, so it’s built for speed.”

  I tried to remember what the outside of the car looked like, and could recall only basic lines and shiny black paint. “It doesn’t really look like a muscle car, not like the Mustang.”

  “It’s got a 4-barrel carburetor engine, pushing out 335 horsepower—but, you’re right, the Road Runner doesn’t have any of that flashy chrome finish or plush doodads you see with other higher priced GTXs of the same era. It doesn’t need to be showy. Its beauty is in its simplicity. Simple, straightforward design…with hidden depths.” He paired this with an impressive engine growl, and accelerated lightning fast along a straight stretch of road. The car certainly was responsive.

  I smiled at that, glancing around the interior once more and noting the lack of fussy trimmings. He was right, it was a stunning car. Its minimalism only contributed to its effortless beauty. But I could feel the untapped potential, its restless restrained power. It was sexy as hell.

  “You’re right, it’s gorgeous.” Because I was obviously a horndog, talking about the hidden depths and restrained power of his muscle car was getting me hot and bothered. I decided to redirect the conversation toward hopefully benign territory. “Did you restore it yourself?”

  “Yep.”

  “Even the upholstery?”

  “Yes. I restored her myself, even the upholstery.”

  “Her?” I passed my hand over the bench, touching the leather with newfound respect and reverence now that I knew Duane was responsible for the flawless restoration. Based on this information, I presumed he’d
also restored the Mustang I was borrowing.

  I was happy to see his smile return as he halted and idled at a stop sign. Duane slid his pretty eyes to mine; I saw echoes of his hot look from the community center, though it appeared to be mostly restrained. “Yes, her. All cars are girls.”

  My smile was huge as I was feeling delightfully unsteady under his perusal. “And why is that? Because they’re so pretty, useful, and hardworking?”

  Duane’s eyes drifted down my body in an unhurried examination; the spark of heat and appreciation in his gaze made me suspicious of his true thoughts, which were only punctuated by his next words.

  “Because when a guy sees a car he likes, all he can think about is getting under the hood or taking her for a ride.”

  This time I threw my head back and laughed with gusto and shocked delight. This was the second time he’d done this, surprised me with his audacity. On Thursday, when he’d shown up at my work with the Mustang, I figured he was just trying to get a rise out of me, but now I saw this new banter for what it was. Duane Winston was funny. And a flirt.

  In all the years I’d known him, and all the arguments and shouting matches we’d had, I never would have guessed that Duane was this funny. Or a flirt.

  Sly? Yes.

  Smart? Certainly.

  Serious and stern? Undoubtedly.

  Funny and flirty? No.

  He was full of surprises.

  As my laughter lessened and morphed into large grin, I turned in my seat and studied him openly. I had to shake myself a little. Before last Friday, never in my wildest—or strangest—dreams could I have imagined that Duane Winston would ever be interested in me, not because there was something wrong with me, but because he always left me with the impression that I irritated the bejeebus out of him.

  Just like I never thought in a million years I’d be so completely drawn to him.

  But here I was…

  “What? What’s wrong?” He frowned at my examination, sparing me a quick glance as he turned right onto the Parkway.

  “Oh, nothing.” I kept staring at him…but not him. I was looking for the Duane I remembered, the one who barely tolerated me, picked verbal sparring matches, and put lizards down my Sunday school dress. “I guess, it’s weird. Right? I mean, you and I grew up together. We used to run around these forests with the other Green Valley kids like a pack of wild animals.”

  His subtle smile was back, but this time it looked nostalgic. “So?”

  “So, here we are. We’re adults. And we’re out together.”

  “We went for a drive on Thursday and you didn’t seem fazed by it.”

  “Yeah, but this is a date. See, I know you—I could tell anyone who asked that you’re a terrible swimmer, or how you drive too fast, or how you got that scar on your right arm, or that you’re better at baseball than any of your brothers—but I don’t know you. It’s like being on a date with two different people, the boy I knew and the…the,” I stuttered, then paused, stopping myself just in time. A slight rush of embarrassment made my tongue lame because I was about to say, and the sweet, gorgeous man you’ve become.

  And that would have been a bizarre thing to say at the beginning of a first date. Honest, but bizarre.

  “And the what?” he prompted, sliding his eyes to mine as he came to another straight stretch on the mountain road.

  I cleared my throat, my chest a sudden and odd combination of achy and fluttery. “The kid I knew, and the man you’ve become. I don’t know this new you very well. It’s a bit disconcerting to feel confident that I know all about you, but have no idea who you really are.” I glanced down and frowned at my purple nail polish, certain I was making a mess of my thoughts. “I’m not explaining this very well.”

  Duane reached over and grabbed one of my hands, sending a warm jolt up my arm and to my ribs.

  “You’re explaining things just fine.” He squeezed my fingers and gave me a quick, reassuring smile. “When we were at the lake last week and I told you we’re different now, both of us have changed, that’s what I meant.”

  “But don’t you think it’ll be weird?”

  “So what? So it’s weird. Weird can be good.”

  “We grew up together. I mean, when we were kids I saw you naked like…,” I counted in my head, “three times. Maybe more.”

  “Is this your way of telling me that you don’t want to see me naked for a fourth time?”

  I answered emphatically and without thinking, “Oh, hell no, you should be naked all the time.”

  Duane’s grin was immediate; but his laughter was stifled, like he was trying to contain it. I rolled my eyes at myself once I realized what I’d just said and let myself feel appropriately embarrassed. My head fell back on the seat and I closed my eyes.

  “See now, here’s the problem. I would never say anything like that on a first date, or even a tenth date.”

  “I still don’t see a problem.”

  “I’m too comfortable speaking my mind around you. Speaking my mind to Duane Winston is not just my default, it’s a moral imperative.” I announced this to the windshield as I opened my eyes and stared at the fall foliage lining the narrow road. Brilliant streaks of red, dark purple, orange, and yellow—a beauty I’d taken for granted as a kid—blurred together as we sped by.

  “That’s just because you’re used to arguing with me.”

  “Yes. Exactly. First dates are like a job interview. It’s about putting your best foot forward, not arguing and speaking your mind.”

  “Well, I’ve never interviewed for a job, but I can’t think of anything better than Jessica James speaking her mind.”

  I shook my head at him, narrowing my eyes suspiciously. “That’s not fair.”

  “What’s not fair?”

  “You’re saying all the right things. Whereas I’m being completely honest.”

  He challenged lightly, “What makes you think these right things I’m saying isn’t me being completely honest?”

  I blinked, then stared at him, at his profile. My heart sped at his last words and my breath caught. Pinpricks of awareness covered my skin accompanied by a nervous uncertainty. I averted my eyes back to the windshield and stared unseeingly forward.

  Did I want to kiss the hell out of him? Yes, I did.

  Did I want to wrap his banana and let him have his way with my coconuts? Yes. I wanted that to happen.

  Did I want him to say all the right things, with sincerity, revealing his hidden depths (as well as a few of mine)?

  …

  …

  …

  I honestly had no idea.

  On one hand, yes. Yes. YES! This Duane was sweet and sincere, generous and wonderful, funny and sexy. I’d known him forever, we had history. I’d thought the history would hinder a relationship between us, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Our history only added to this growing connection, provided gravity of feeling and understanding. What more could I want? What more could I ask for?

  On the other hand, no. No. NO! Duane had roots. Subterranean, cavernous roots. He was a local business owner, he had a big family. I couldn’t imagine him ever leaving Tennessee. This was his home, and home was a physical place for him.

  But Green Valley wasn’t where I belonged. I’d known I would never stay my whole life.

  Regardless, I was moving deeper without meaning to, wading out of my shallow pool. And this was only our first date, a date that hadn’t even technically started yet.

  At some point I was going to have to tell him I had plans and those plans meant I would be leaving. Eventually. Definitely.

  I needed to be honest…but not yet.

  * * *

  Cooper Road Trail was definitely an off-the-beaten-path kind of park. Duane’s was the only car in the lot when we pulled in. I knew of this locale mostly because my momma loved to hike the trail in June, when the orange and yellow daylilies bloomed along the path. The summer air smelled sweet and warm, and was alive with buzzing bees and rushing wa
ter from nearby waterfalls.

  It was a first come, first served kind of place, no camping reservations accepted. It was also exceedingly difficult to find if you weren’t a longtime citizen of the Valley. The campsite was small, verging on cramped, and had roughly ten or so spots; five of those spots were on a shallow and relatively wide clear-water stream, typical for the area.

  When we arrived and Duane pulled a mountaineering backpack from his trunk, along with a big basket hamper, I abruptly remembered I’d left the beer in the refrigerator at home.

  “Oh, shoot!” I grimaced, rubbing my forehead.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I was in such a rush to escape my brother I forgot our drinks at the house.”

  Duane shrugged. “No problem. I have water in the bag.”

  I stepped forward and moved to take the basket from his hands. “Do you have anything other than water?”

  “No. Just water.”

  “Oh. Okay.” My heart sank a little. It was the one thing I was supposed to bring and I’d forgotten. Even though he appeared to shrug it off, I felt like I’d let him down.

  As we walked together past the campsites and to the hiking trail, making small talk about the park, I tried to similarly shrug off my forgetfulness. I didn’t like taking advantage and I didn’t like letting him down. And, though it was irrational, I hated looking like a flake.

  I didn’t mind if people thought I was silly-slash-weirdo, cross-dressing sexy Gandalf, but I couldn’t abide anyone thinking I was unreliable. Because I wasn’t, I was trustworthy and took my responsibilities very seriously.

  While I was still chastising myself, Duane led me off the path when we were about a quarter mile down the trail. I was thankful I’d worn my hiking boots because we had to splash through some wet areas and slippery rocks. Duane was careful to take my hand and plot out the driest course each time. His chivalry, care, and attention contributed to my mounting appreciation, and left me feeling tongue-tied and flushed.

  I finally let go of kicking myself for being forgetful when I noticed Duane’s chivalry was increasingly tempered with reluctant and distracted moments of ogling.

  Three times I caught him checking out my ass. Afterward he’d clench his jaw and frown severely at the ground, or the sky, or the trees lining the path. I found these little cracks in his control delightful.