“I’m closest with Rogan, but Reid has always made me laugh and knows how to make things interesting. He’s a big dreamer with an even bigger heart. I love Rogan, of course. He’s the guy I talk to the most, but he’s an asshole most of the time too. Carries a chip on his shoulder and refuses to brush it off. And Brig, well, whenever he gets a chance to annoy me, he does.”

“The youngest-child syndrome, right? My friend out in California was the youngest of three, and she made it her mission to always annoy her two older sisters. The fights they would get into scared me sometimes. I was afraid there was going to be some serious hair pulling, and I wasn’t going to be able to break them up.”

“There’s definitely something to that. It’s like they’re predisposed to be irritants and instigators.”

“Very true. So Reid, huh? Does he know?”

I shake my head. “Hell no. That would be like seriously telling your children who your favorite is. If I ever let out that information, I would never hear the end of it, especially from Rogan.”

“Understandable. So if I were to accidentally say something, what would you do?” She slyly grins at me.

My brow lifts. “Playing with fire, are we? If you were to tell them our little secret—yes, it’s our little secret now—I would march my ass over to your house and take a sledgehammer to your Adirondack chairs.”

She gasps and clutches her chest dramatically. “You wouldn’t.”

I slowly nod, a smirk playing at my lips. “I so would.”

“Oh, Griffin Knightly, you don’t play fair.”

I tip my drink toward her. “Never said I did.”

The crowd has died down, and the few people left are all sitting around the dimming fire.

Not Ren and me.

Instead, we’re sitting in the bucket seats of Brig’s 1965 Mustang convertible, our heads tilted back, the dull hum of people talking mixing with a light instrumental beat that plays in the background.

The stars above us shine brightly against the midnight sky while crickets chirp around us, lightning bugs blinking in the far-off distance. It’s a typical summer night in Maine, but because I’m spending it beside Ren, it seems more magical than normal.

“What’s one thing you wish you already checked off your bucket list?” I ask, hands in my lap.

She turns toward me, curling her legs up, her cheek resting on the back of the chair. She’s so petite that she snuggles in perfectly to the leather of the chair.

“Hmm, that’s a tough one—it’s a long list.”

“True, but if you had to choose one.”

She doesn’t answer right away, taking her time instead. I like that she puts thought into my questions, like she truly wants to give me a good answer. It’s like she’s giving me her true self, and I really like that. I’m learning all about the real Ren, digging in deep, not just hitting the surface.

“This is going to sound so lame, I’m sure, and superficial.”

“I won’t judge you.” I speak sincerely, turning my head to look her in the eyes. “If it’s on your bucket list, then it means something to you. Who am I to judge what you want to accomplish in your life?”

Her eyes meet mine, her lashes fluttering a few times. “You’re a special kind of man, Griffin, do you know that?” Unsure of what to say, I swallow hard, her words hitting me right in the chest. “As you know, I grew up in Los Angeles. Movies have always been a huge part of my life, not just because basically all of my friends wanted to be actors, but because the city lives and breathes entertainment. The Oscars were a huge deal growing up. We were invited to at least five viewing parties every year, and when it wasn’t award season, we were always running into some kind of film production.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“It was. Still is. Even at twenty-eight, I get excited about the possibility of running into a film set.”

“We’ve never had that kind of excitement around here.”

“Which is surprising. This town was made for movies.” She leans farther into the chair. “It’s silly, but I’ve always wanted to be an extra in a movie, to make it to the big screen in a small way. I put it on my bucket list, thinking I’d get the chance in California, but it never happened. Now that goal seems almost impossible.”

“Hey, you never know. There have been film scouts here before.”

“Really?” She perks up. “That’s really exciting. Why wasn’t Port Snow ever picked?”

“Not sure.” I shrug. “But they do come in and out. Maybe one day a production company will be smart enough to film here. It’s also one of the reasons why we keep everything so impeccable; landing a movie set for the town would be huge.”

“Wow, I didn’t know that’s something you guys even thought about.”

“Trust me, we’ve thought of everything when it comes to revenue.” I curl my finger around the steering wheel and lightly move it back and forth. “What held you back from becoming an extra in LA? There must have been a lot of opportunities.”

“School and work. I was dead set on making sure I aced every single test and got a good student-teacher job.”

“Book nerd?”

“Yeah, big time. I’ve been to the library in town at least three times already. It’s the most perfect building, like a little castle smack in the center of town. And it smells like heaven, like old books and knowledge. I love everything about it.”

I can’t even remember the last time I stepped foot in the library, but seeing it through Ren’s eyes is giving me a new appreciation for the place, making me wish I hadn’t overlooked it so often.

“Do you have any other happy places?”

“My house,” she answers without even thinking about it. “Honestly, it’s so perfect. I love it so much. It’s quaint and quiet, not to mention it’s right by this guy I keep running into.”

“Oh yeah?” I smirk at her. “Hopefully he’s not annoying you.”

“No, he’s been pretty good to me. I just hope I’m not annoying him.”

I turn my head completely toward her, a sense of seriousness lacing my answer. “You’re not.”

Her smile sends electricity up my spine, lifting the hairs on the back of my neck. Unforgettable, that smile, that look on her face—it immediately imprints in my mind, along with this night. The smells, the sounds, the light breeze that keeps blowing her subtle perfume over me, lighting me up inside: all of it makes for one of the most memorable nights I’ve had in a very long time.

“I’ve never been out in Port Snow this late before. It almost seems magical to see the empty streets, the closed-down shops, just the streetlights lighting our way. Makes me want to dance out in the middle of the street,” Ren says, holding her heels in her hand, her bare feet padding across the concrete of the sidewalk.

“So why don’t you? No one’s watching.”

“You’re watching.”

“So?”

She walks backward. “No way am I about to start dancing in front of you, especially without any music.”

Is she really going to hold out on me now? After the night we had? Everything we talked about? No way in hell.

I pull my phone from my pocket, open up my music app, and play the first thing that comes up on my playlist. Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World” fills the quiet night air, a lonesome trumpet perfectly underscoring the grainy, beautiful voice.

I step down off the sidewalk and hold the phone out, turning the volume up as far as it will go. “Here’s your chance, Ren.” I start to sidestep, showing her there is nothing to be self-conscious about.

“Are you really dancing in the street right now?”

I look down at my feet and then up and down the deserted road. “I am. Why don’t you join me?” I hold out my hand for her. She eyes it for a few moments before she sets her shoes down on the sidewalk and closes the distance between us.

She’s hesitant at first, but the minute her hand slips into mine, the feel of her soft palm ignites a fire deep in my stomach, awakening every bone and nerve ending in my body.

With bated breath I wait as she slowly moves her hand up my arm to my shoulder, where she rests it. Her eyes are cast down for a few moments before she tilts her head back and blinks up at me, disbelief in her gaze. Hell, I’m feeling the same way right about now.

Phone in my pocket setting the mood of this serene night, I place my hand at her lower back and start to guide us back and forth.

We don’t speak; instead we let Louis Armstrong speak the truth.

The sweet melody is like a paintbrush stroking the canvas we’re dancing on, igniting the colors around us into vivid hues I forgot existed.

The sky is washed in purple, dotted with electric-white stars.

The pastel-colored shops glow in the golden light from the streetlights, more animated than I’ve ever seen them.

And the potted flowers hanging above us move in the light breeze, illuminated, beacons of color along the dark, calm street.

Everything seems more real, more alive, just like the feeling in my heart, pounding, reminding me that no matter how often I deny it, the woman in my arms has a profound effect on me.

Like I’ve come back to life after a long stint in purgatory.

For the entire song, we stay silent, just enjoying the gentle sway of our dancing, and with each shift of her feet, she draws closer and closer until she’s only a few inches away, her feminine scent eating a hole in my already weakening facade.