to move here, to Rust Creek Falls.”
“I do, but that doesn’t really fit with my ambitions for work. I’m slowly accepting that eventually I need to choose between trying again for a more ambitious career and a move here.”
“Go big,” he suggested.
“And what, exactly, does that mean?”
He shrugged. “You need to be where the action is. Why don’t you move to LA?”
She set her hat on the blanket between them and stretched out on her back. Folding her hands on her stomach, she stared up at the darkening sky. “You weren’t listening to me.”
He leaned over her and touched her chin with a light brush of his finger, causing a bunch of small, winged creatures to take flight in her belly. “I would be there. To help you get settled.”
She tried to keep it light. “Oh, I just bet you would.”
“Can you dial back the sarcasm?” He held her eyes.
“Carson, you hardly know me.”
“And that’s my point. I want to know you better.”
There was a moment—a long, sweet one—when he gazed down at her and she looked up at him. The world seemed wide-open at that moment, bright and so beautiful, bursting with hope and limitless possibility.
He whispered, “It’s just a thought.”
“Don’t tempt me.” She meant it to sound teasing. Flirtatious. But somehow, it came out too soft. Too full of yearning.
But then the band started playing over by the portable dance floor beneath the warm glow of the party lights strung between the trees.
“Come on.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s dance.”
And they did dance. For over an hour, they never left the floor. He was more than a foot taller than her, but when he wrapped his big arms around her, it felt only...right. He knew the two-step and how to line dance.
When she told him she hadn’t expected an LA boy to know the cowboy dances, he laughed. “You oughta see my disco moves.”
“Okay, Carson. Now you’re starting to freak me out.”
Eventually, they got bottles of water from the coolers and returned to the blanket. Theirs was a great spot, out of the way of the action, shadowed and private, with only the thick swirl of the stars and the waning moon overhead for light.
They whispered together like a couple of bad children plotting insurrections against unwary adults. He told her that he’d been married to his high school sweetheart, Marianne. “Marianne wanted to start a family right away.”
“And you didn’t want kids, right?”
“Right. I realized I’d married too young. We divorced. She remarried a couple of years later. Her husband Greg’s a great guy. They have four kids.”
She stretched out on her back again and stared up at the stars. “So you’re saying she’s happy?”
“Very. I don’t see much of her anymore, but it’s good between us, you know? We’re past all the ugly stuff. She ended up finding just what she wanted.”
“And what about you?”
“I’m happy, too. I like my life. It’s all worked out fine.” He leaned over her, bending closer.
It just seemed so natural, so absolutely right, to offer her mouth to him, to welcome his kiss.
His lips settled over hers, light as a breath. They were every bit as soft and supple as they looked. She sighed in welcome as little prickles of pleasure danced through her, and she was glad, so glad, that she’d denied her silly fears and come to the park, after all. That she’d met this charming man and was sharing a great evening with him.
When he pulled back, his eyes were darker than ever. “What is it about you, Tessa? I can’t take my eyes off you. I feel like I’ve known you forever. And how come you taste so good?”
She laughed. “Oh, you silver-tongued devil, you.” She was trying to decide whether or not to kiss him again when a raspy throat-clearing sound came from a clump of bushes about ten feet away.
Tessa sat up. “What was that?”
Carson challenged, “Who’s there?”
Branches rustled—and an old man emerged from right out of the center of a big bush. He wore baggy black jeans, a frayed rope for a belt, battered lace-up work boots and the dingy top half of a union suit as a shirt. Bristly gray whiskers peppered his wattled cheeks. What was left of his hair stood up at all angles.
Tessa recognized him instantly. “Homer Gilmore, were you eavesdropping on us?”
Homer Gilmore blinked as though waking himself from a sound sleep—and then he grinned wide, showing crooked, yellowed teeth. “Well, if it ain’t little Tessa Strickland. Stayin’ at your grandma’s place for the summer?”
“Yes, I am. And you didn’t answer my question.”
Homer scratched his stubbly cheek. “Me? Eavesdropping?” He put on a hurt expression. “Tessa, you know me better than that.”
Beside her, Carson rose smoothly to his feet and held down a hand for her. She took it, and he pulled her up to stand beside him.
Homer came toward them.
Carson seemed bemused. “Homer Gilmore. Face-to-face at last.”
Homer recognized him. “Carson Drake.” He accepted Carson’s offered hand and gave it a quick pump before letting go. “Told you I’d be in touch.”
“So then, that really was you on the phone?”
“’Course it was.” Homer had a mason jar of clear liquid in his left hand. “Here.” He shoved it toward Carson.
Carson eyed the jar doubtfully. “What’s this?”
“This is what you came here to get.” Homer grabbed Carson’s hand and slapped the jar into it.
“No kidding.” Carson held the jar up toward the party lights in the distance. “Homer Gilmore’s magic moonshine?”
“The one and only.” Homer spoke proudly, puffing out his scrawny chest. “Truth is, I like your style, kid. And here’s what I want you to do. Try a taste or two. See what you think. Then we can talk.”
“I’m sorry.” Carson actually did sound regretful. “It doesn’t work that way.” He tried to hand the jar back.
Homer refused to take it. “I say how it works. Taste it.”
“Look, we need a meeting.
