I feel instantly regretful for the mockery.

  “I went too far, and I apologize.”

  Danny watches me while he gulps down his glass of iced tea. Does he know that I can see him staring at my tits now?

  “Forget it. Let’s talk about something else while we clean up, before you get yourself banned for life from Fate.”

  “Pssh.” I wave him off and stand to clear the dishes.

  Outside, thunder crashes, and I jump slightly.

  Danny clears the table in one trip with those big hands and long forearms, leaving me to start the soapy water in the sink.

  “Dismiss it all you want, but as a city council member duly elected, I hold the right to ban any non-citizen who slanders the good name of Fate from entering our town borders.”

  I shake my head, grabbing a fresh sponge. “I’ll wash; you dry. Also, no such rule exists.”

  “Sure does.”

  Confused, I shake my head as I hand him the first clean plate. “That is no more real than having a dog for a mayor.”

  “Hey,” he says, “I’m a surprisingly traditional guy. I voted for Ruby, but she dropped out of the race.”

  “Of course she did. Why challenge a dog?”

  The touch happens innocently enough. The passing of a washed and rinsed dinner plate. Nothing more than that. The slight scrape of one rough landscaper’s index finger against my thumb. There’s nothing there in that half a second that should wake me up. Nothing about it should prod me in the same way as his stare or his irritating arguments. But still. The quick, unintentional contact might happen against my thumb, but I feel it in my stomach. And in my chest. And other quiet places inside that are now starting to hum.

  With me practicing some silent deep breathing, Danny and I complete the chore of washing dishes while chatting about other, less challenging topics for us—particularly how the weather is worsening. I peek outside through the kitchen curtains over the sink; the sky is a troubling green-ish black, and the wind is picking up.

  “That doesn’t look good,” I say. The tree of a man in my kitchen hunches over to look at what I’m seeing.

  He agrees with me on this, at least, announcing that he should get moving if he’s going to stay ahead of the storm.

  I follow Danny to the door, hoping to possibly schedule another meeting of the minds on the subject of rival record-setting balls. Preferably over the phone, so I don’t get distracted by the angle of his torso when he sits in my kitchen chair. Or by him dragging his fingertips back and forth along the chair’s arms. Or by the way his brown eyes turn black as they regard me when he’s not making snarky comments.

  As I’m about to suggest a more neutral meeting time and place, a crack of lightning and thunder shakes the house. I jump, triggering an embarrassing yip sort of noise from me. I sound like one of those perpetually frightened dogs that live in ladies’ purses.

  “I’m not normally afraid of lightning, but that felt close,” I say. Almost as close as Danny’s hand that’s cradling my collarbone in what I assume is a protective instinctual reaction on his part. This is not a graze of fingers; this is deliberate. Those long fingers squeezing my shoulder send jolts of electricity through me. The energy in the air outside has nothing on the what Danny’s hand is doing to my body.

  “I’ll go outside and see if anything got hit.”

  Before I can point out the stupidity of waltzing outside in a lightning storm, he’s out the door.

  I go to the picture window to watch him and see that the wind is blowing the rain sideways now. Just then, my phone makes a terrible wailing noise; I jump once more at the sound of the hazardous weather alert.

  “Dangerous winds and hail until 10 p.m. Head indoors and take shelter away from windows,” reads the weather alert. Another lightning bolt explodes, and I see it hit the tree across the street from my house. Sparks fly, and the enormous hundred-year-old oak falls with a groan so loud I can hear it over the pounding rain. I cover my mouth and gasp. In slow motion, the mighty tree lands with a thud across the road, barely missing Danny’s truck, painting my picture window with its leaves on the way down.

  I’m about to run outside to look for Danny when the lights go out. That’s not unexpected in this weather, but it freaks me out to no end, especially since I can’t see Danny. He could be trapped under the tree, floating face down in a ditch. God knows where.

  I run to the coat hook by the back door off the kitchen, hurriedly pulling on my raincoat and rubber boots. I’m about to go outside when another crash fills the air, lighting up the dark rainy sky outside. That idiot. When I find him, I’m going to twist his useless man nipples until that satisfied smirk disappears.

  The door flies open the second I tug at the knob, and Danny’s dark outline fills the doorway.

  “You idiot!”

  I throw my arms around him so hard, he stumbles backward. “Whoa, Nelly. Hang on, lemme shut the dang door before you ravage me.”

  I step back and swipe the drips from his chest that have transferred to my face. “How can you make jokes?! Did you see that tree? I thought you were dead or drowned out there!”

  Danny tugs at the front of my raincoat. “Were you coming outside to find me? That’s so sweet of you.”

  He seems exactly like the kind of guy who would tell me how beautiful I am when I’m angry, so thank god the lights are off because I’d be punching him in the nose right now.

  “So, what did you see on your ill-advised excursion?” I say, angrily chucking off my coat and boots.

  “Street’s completely flooded. So, tree or not, I’m stuck here for a bit. I’m guessing the lights are out all over the neighborhood. Fortunately, I’ve got tools with me; I can cut my way through the tree once the water recedes.”

  I will not imagine a wet Danny wielding a chainsaw. I will not imagine a wet Danny wielding a chainsaw. I will not…

  “Are you okay?”

  “Who me? Yes, of course! Listen, we have to take cover. Take off those wet clothes and meet me in the bathroom.”

  As I scurry off to gather supplies, he calls after me, “Never on a first date!”

  “Ugh! Why are you like this?!” I shout as I stalk to the second bedroom to dig out some of my brother’s clothes. Will, my twin, is shorter and stockier than Danny. But a tee-shirt and gym shorts should work fine for now.

  I chuck the clothes at Danny, where he stands in the tiny laundry room, without thinking this through first. Lightning flashes, illuminating a buck-naked Danny wringing out his wet clothes in the utility sink. Oh. My god. It’s a dark and stormy night, but it’s a full moon in this house.

  Averting my eyes, I scurry back to the bedroom as he chuckles, “Thanks!”

  Damn this storm. Damn this power outage. Damn, this flash flooding.

  But then again, the scared part of me, the one that I try to hide, feels an immense amount of relief that I’ve got company for this terrible night.

  Even if he’s annoying as hell. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

  Chapter Ten

  Danny

  The basketball shorts fall to mid-thigh but otherwise fit fine. This summer camp tee-shirt? A little on the tight side.

  One scenario I never imagined would be me sitting on the ledge of a pink bathtub in an old-school 1950s pink tiled bathroom, in the dark, wearing another man’s tee-shirt, with my very slight dad belly pooching out.

  I thought I was supposed to meet Izzy here in the bathroom for safety, but she seems to be taking a long time. I hear struggling in the hallway, and I see frenetic beams from a flashlight.

  “What the…?”

  I find Izzy grunting and pushing a full-size mattress down the hallway, a camping headlamp strapped to her head.

  “A mattress?” I ask.

  “For cushion,” she says. “Urgh, why are these so hard to move?”

  “Sweetie, I said I like to go slow on a first date, but if you insist. Stand aside, Izzy.”

  Hard to see in the dark, but I’m betting she’s rolling her eyes right now. “It’s for us to take shelter under, not for…whatever it is you’re thinking of. Honestly, I don’t know how you can keep making sex jokes at a time like this….”

  Izzy keeps on harmlessly berating me while I quickly tug the mattress into this tiny bathroom, bending it to the side to make space for Izzy to squeeze past and situate herself in the tub. She’s still muttering when I pivot the mattress and lay it over her. Finally, she’s quiet.

  “My mom always put me in the tub to calm me down when I was upset as a kid. Guess it works for adults, too.”

  She huffs, “I’m going to ignore that. Are you getting in?”

  At the moment, my back is propped against the bathroom door frame, and I have a clear shot of the living room window, where more branches are falling and the rain pelts my truck. “I’m keeping an eye on the storm.”

  “If the roof caves in from another tree fall, it’s your funeral,” Izzy says.

  I know she’s trying to sound dismissive, but I hear something else there. She’s not quite as okay as she likes to present to me. I look over and see only shadows. I don’t need light to know she’s scared.

  Honestly, so am I. This storm is nuts.

  “You’re right,” I admit.

  I give in to taking shelter, though every instinct in me is to stand guard and protect and possibly help.

  It’s not actually that uncomfortable sitting here next to her in the tub. My legs hang over the side. By contrast, Izzy’s sitting cross-legged. We’ve got the mattress propped at an angle above our heads, between the countertop and a convenient grab bar on the shower wall.

  Thunder crashes, and in the dark, I feel Izzy’s arm jerk.

  “Distraction time.”

  “Danny, let’s just keep it PG, okay?”

  “Why do you assume I’d be rated R?”

  “Because you keep making jokes.”

  Sighing, I tell her that I wasn’t going to make any more jokes about dating. “Let’s make a list. Tell me about all your teachers from kindergarten up.”

  Something in her energy relaxes, and she says. “Oh! I love lists. Mrs. Brown. I didn’t like her because she told me I colored just like my messy older cousin. Mrs. Mayfield. Mrs. Junk.”

  “Wait,” I say, “You did not have a teacher named Mrs. Junk.”

  “Yes, I did. Second grade. Then, Mrs. Medina, Mrs. Litchfield, Mr. Brown, no relation to Mrs. Brown….”

  I listen to her list off every teacher, and to the odd anecdote about each one. Finally, we reached college, and she can somehow name every professor, teaching assistant, adjunct, and even resident assistant in her dorm rooms.

  “Ok, now you go,” she says.

  “Kindergarten, Mrs. Mooney. First grade, Mrs. Jenkins. Second, third, fourth grade, my Mom. And on and on from there.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re a homeschool kid?”

  “All the way through high school.”

  “Wow. Why?”

  She’s not going to like what I say next. “Well, my mom was a high school teacher in Fate. When they closed the high school and sent all those kids over to Gold Hill East High, my parents, both teachers, were heartbroken. So we traveled in an RV all over the country and did a hybrid of homeschool and road school. Then we came back to Fate when the money ran out. Dad got a job at the textile mill, and we just kept on with the homeschooling plan.”

  She’s quiet for a time. “Why didn’t you just go to Gold Hill?”

  “Mom’s whole career was in Fate. She just couldn’t handle things changing. Maybe she was a little too headstrong. I even went to a little tiny homeschool graduation ceremony.”

  “Cute,” Izzy says. “Did you have caps and gowns?”

  “No, and it kind of sucked. I didn’t really know anybody except my family.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No worries. I ended up all right. Started cutting grass to earn money, and the rest is history.”

  “And now you’re a fancy pants town council member.”

  I know she’s joking. There’s nothing particularly fancy about being a town leader in a place with 500 people and a dog as mayor. But it still feels oddly prickly. I still take it personally when someone takes a jab at my little town. Time to change the subject.

  “What about you? What did you major in?”

  “Communications and public relations.”

  I shouldn’t laugh, but this catches me off-guard.

  “What’s so funny?” she asks, nudging me playfully.

  This makes me laugh more. “I’m sorry. Public relations. Is that where you learned to do what you did yesterday?”

  “I had to come to the defense of my city. One of our claims to fame is being challenged.”

  “So you, a public relations expert, come to my town on our biggest day ever, and get into a shouting match in public with Fate’s council secretary. Good job.”

  Thank god she’s laughing because I can’t stop, and I feel like such an asshole. “You are hilarious, Danny Bryce.”

  What I want to say is, “And you’re adorable, Izzy.” But I don’t. Why is it that talking shit comes so quickly, but sweetness is so difficult?

  “Well,” I say instead. “You’re stuck with me until we’re out of danger.” I don’t bother to tell Izzy that, from the sound of it, the weather has passed. Why don’t I tell her? I don’t know. Because she smells like sunshine, and her laugh is hypnotizing? Because I know there’s a mess to clean up outside, and I’m not ready to leave this little bubble just yet?

  “Thanks for staying,” Izzy says, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s now sitting a few millimeters closer than she was earlier.

  “Thanks for the clothes.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Ex-boyfriend’s?”

  Now that our eyes have adjusted to the dark, I can make out her profile. She turns to me abruptly. “What?”

  I tug at the summer camp tee-shirt. “This? The clothes.”

  “Oh! No. Those are my twin brother’s. We bought this house together, but he’s away for six months working on a cargo ship.”

  She’s a twin? “You’re a twin? Kind of buried the lede.”

  Izzy shrugs. “Guess I did. Yeah, Will is pretty much my best friend. We have our own coded language, and it drives my uncle crazy.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “My dad left before we were born. He and my mom were high school sweethearts, but he could barely handle the news of one baby on the way. Freaked out when he found out Mom was having twins. After we turned 18, she met a guy online and moved to Florida to be with him, and she’s been there ever since. I guess she was all right as a mom, but I also sort of always felt like she secretly resented us for stealing away her 20s. I’m at peace with it. Uncle Stan always felt bad that his brother jumped ship, so he was good to us. Went out of his way to take care of us, bought us birthday presents and holiday presents. Came to every soccer game, dance recital, play. You name it, he was there. So he went above and beyond to hire me at the mayor’s office after I graduated. I love my job, but I always feel a little bit guilty because it’s definitely a nepotism job. I’m still young, though, and I won’t be there forever. My uncle would prefer that I stay, especially since my brother travels all over working on ships. I miss my brother and mom, so I’ve never really felt like I belonged here 100 percent. Do you know what I mean?”

  How much do I want to hug her right now? And apologize on behalf of all men for how her father treated her mother. I feel like mowing down every obstacle in the way of her dreams.

  “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “Hmm,” she says with a sigh. “I guess you’re not a completely annoying person after all.”

  “I suppose I’m tolerable at times.”

  “I don’t know if I can tolerate sleeping in this tub all night, though,” she says with a long sigh and a yawn.

  I check my phone, which thankfully I had fully charged before I left my house today. It’s later than I thought.

  “Me neither.”

  “And this is going to sound selfish, but all I can think about is all my freezer food going to waste,” she says.

  Well, that simply will not do.

  Chapter Eleven

  Izzy

  I am fully aware that the storm has passed. I am also fully aware that Danny knows the storm has passed and hasn’t brought it up once. Nor has he gone outside to check the state of the roads or the state of his truck.

  When a man forgets about his truck and instead listens intently to you babbling in the dark about your childhood, he goes up several notches in my esteem.

  So does a man who rescues two pints of ice cream from my freezer and guesses right the first time that I want the mocha-flavored one.

  Is it ridiculous that we’re still sitting in the tub, both of us knowing the storm is over? Yes.

  Still, here we are, a couple of idiots eating ice cream in the dark, in my bathroom. The mattress is now laid out on the bathroom floor, “Just in case another squall comes through.”

  I accept it. I don’t believe it for a second. But I accept it.

  Did I mention he went up in my esteem for fetching ice cream? He went up another three notches for taking away our empty pints and dirty spoons.

  It’s nice to be waited on, and it’s even nicer when he slides back into the same spot he was before, next to me in the tub.

  “Better?”

  “Much,” I reply. “Now I can sleep.”

  “Same. Pre-bedtime, in the dark, is the only way to eat an entire pint of ice cream.”

  Marry me.

  “We have a lot more in common than we first realized. Maybe we should stop arguing,” he says.

  I let out a huge yawn and say, “Maybe we should revisit the argument in the morning.”

  “C’mere.” With his arm stretched across the length of the tub, he offers up himself as a pillow.

  “Well. If we’re stuck here….”