Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
Bruce walks off to go finish whatever game he’s addicted to on his phone, and I hear Andrew’s deep voice asking the band if they take requests. A moment later, they’re playing something slow but catchy, and vaguely familiar.
“Do you want to dance?” Andrew asks, walking over to me, holding his hand out.
Normally, I’m not a dancer. I’m usually the person who sits at the singles table at weddings, avoiding the dance floor, and counting down the minutes until it’s socially acceptable to leave.
But when I take Andrew’s hand and he pulls me in close, I get the appeal.
It feels like it did when I was in his arms on the hot-air balloon. Warm and fuzzy and safe.
He puts his hands on my waist, sending tingles up my spine, and I loop mine around his neck. We slow-dance for the rest of the song and don’t break apart when the band starts another one. Andrew must think my two left feet are warmed up because he twirls me.
He pulls me back in and says, “I donated to your fundraiser, by the way.”
“You did?” I say, looking up at him with what I can only imagine is an idiotic grin.
“Yep. I’m looking forward to my yellow-legged frog postcard.”
“Oh, there are giveaways now?” I say, impressed with Cassie’s ingenuity.
“Yep. And if you donate five grand, you get to name a frog.”
“Were you tempted to do that so there’d be a little Michael Jordan hopping around?”
He laughs. “You know me so well.” Then his smile changes from teasing to serious. “I still can’t believe you were willing to put your life on hold to go on a reality show, which I know you hate, so you could save your nature center—”
“And frogs.”
“And frogs.” He looks at me with that intensity of his. “You’re honestly one of the most passionate, most selfless people I’ve ever met.”
My heart skips at least twenty-seven beats, but I scoff and try to play it off. He’s not having it. “You even came to Beth Anne’s rescue, and she’s awful. You defended Ciara, Javier, and, well, the entire crew, and you gave away the golden key card even though it meant sleeping in the shack.”
I look away, because I feel my face turning scarlet. But that means I’m making eye contact with the fiddle player and that’s weird too, so I turn back to him and admit, “It’s hard for me to accept compliments.”
He smiles. “I can tell.”
“But thank you for saying those things. It means a lot . . . coming from you.”
The “you” dances in the air between us. Because it’s true.
It somehow means more coming from him. The gold flecks in his eyes shine.
I sigh contentedly as I take it all in. This handsome man in front of me, backlit by the setting sun and with the mountains behind him, hell, even the band is growing on me.
“I feel bad for the next girl you take out. It’s going to be hard to top this. ”
Andrew gives me a long look, though I see the hint of a smile. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I don’t date much.”
“I do find that hard to believe,” I admit.
“I don’t have a lot of free time outside of work, and well, you’ve seen the people I meet on the show.”
“Beautiful, scantily clad women? Yeah, that’s rough.”
He laughs. “Love Shack contestants aren’t usually my type.” The “usually” makes me lean in closer to him. He looks at me meaningfully. “I guess it’s a good thing I got fired. I’ll finally have time to date. And I won’t have to feel bad about doing this . . .”
He leans in and kisses me slowly, languorously, like he has all the time in the world to get to know my mouth.
Unlike our first two kisses, which felt needy and frenzied, this feels dreamlike.
A slow love song drifts on the breeze through the vineyard, and the combination of the California sun heating my skin and Andrew’s fingers trailing my arm gives me goose bumps.
I follow his lead, not rushing anything. And once again it feels like we’re in on the same plan. Like we’re making a pact that there will be plenty of time for everything else, so for now we’re just going to lazily enjoy the moment.
When we eventually pull apart, Andrew holds me close as we dance to the rest of the song. I feel like I’m floating.
After the song ends, we thank the band and promise to download their songs.
Then, over some more vegan cheese and dark chocolate, Andrew and I talk about everything from our family and friends to our college years.
We debate who has cooler hobbies. Me—reading, puzzles, science podcasts, and trivia night.
Andrew—playing pickup basketball, mountain biking, learning guitar, and discovering new food trucks.
I’m honestly impressed that I’m able to pay attention to what he’s saying because all I can think about is kissing him again.
A little while later, Bruce comes back over, looking at his watch. The time spent with Andrew—dancing, talking, laughing—has flown by, but apparently it’s been hours.
“You ready to risk our lives again?” Andrew asks me.
“I’m kinda tipsy now, so sure, why not?”
But Bruce shakes his head. “We’re not going back yet. It’s the next part of the date.” He gestures past a small barn, where I see a massage table set up. Was that always there, or did they set it up while I was distracted by the sexy lawyer?
I shrug and look at Andrew. “It’s up to you. Should we get a massage?”
He doesn’t even hesitate when he grabs my hand and pulls me toward the barn.