She’s wearing a silver dress that catches the light with every move; her hair is piled on top of her head with a few strategic red curls framing her face. She spins once, the dress flaring around her knees.
“What do you think?” she asks, suddenly shy.
“I think,” I say, crossing to her in two strides, “that we might be late to this party.”
She laughs, pushing against my chest when I try to pull her closer. “Don’t you dare wrinkle this dress. Do you know how long it took me to steam it?”
I groan but release her. “You’re killing me, Witch.”
“Good.” She pats my cheek, smirking. “Because I’m only returning the favor. Have you seen yourself in the mirror? You look like the hottest popstar from the nineties, and I might have even had your poster in my bedroom.”
“Try two decades earlier,” I mumble, feeling unsure in this ridiculous outfit but happy with how her eyes sparkle as they rake over my body.
When she walks up to me and rises on her toes to place a soft kiss on my cheek, I catch her and pull her into me.
“Are you sure we can’t skip it?” I whisper into her ear.
“We can’t. And are you that happy to see me or are the pants really that tight?”
“Both,” I groan, resting my nose against her head. “I don’t think I have any circulation in that area. You might need to kiss it better later.”
“I just might,” she laughs, pulling away. “Depends on how you behave at the party.”
An hour later, we’re pulling into the Dancing Pony’s crowded parking lot. The place is lit up like Christmas, with colored lights strung across the entrance and music thumping loudly enough to feel it in the truck.
“Remind me why we’re doing this?” I ask, killing the engine.
“Because it’s fun.” She squeezes my hand. “And because you love me.”
I can’t argue with that. Six months in, and I’m still falling harder every day.
“One hour,” I negotiate. “Then we leave.”
“Two hours,” she counters. “And you have to dance with me at least once.”
I groan, but the smile tugging at my lips gives me away. “Fine. Two hours. One dance. Then home.”
Her answering smile is worth every second of discomfort I’m about to endure.
Inside, the Dancing Pony has been transformed—both because I remodeled their lobby a few months ago and because it is now all decked out in disco balls and streamers with dim lighting that creates an ambient feeling the place doesn’t usually have. Usually the bed and breakfast is nothing but empty hallways and no people around besides Emma, the owner, but tonight it’s filled with people. The theme seems to be “dress in all the sparkles you can find” because I’m about to go blind.
My eyes land on Roman’s friend from city hall who’soffering a glass to Nora’s grandmother while looking a little fidgety. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was trying to flirt with her. Theodora falls under my protection, and normally I’d go and introduce myself. But I already know the man and know that he’s decent. He’s the one who helped me get my final permit and is helping Moons’ deal with Dick’s cousin Jacqueline. Even though she’s still trying to shut down Nora’s diner, we have some support from him. He has limited power since they are in equal positions in town, but we’ve managed to work around her so far. One time she did close the diner for a few days before Roman’s friend showed up for the reinspection because the evil lady came down with a cold.
Needless to say, the diner was reopened the same evening because no codes were broken. Jaqueline’s attempts to close Moons’ to give Dick’s place a monopoly hasn’t been successful so far. I get the feeling she’ll keep trying, but the Moons are not alone anymore, so it won’t be easy to bully them.
“Nora! Jericho!” Karina appears like magic and waves frantically from near the bar, already looking tipsy despite the early hour. “You came!”
Nora hugs her, exclaiming over her gold lamé jumpsuit while I scan the room, cataloging exits and familiar faces. Old habits.
“Is that Jericho Landell in sequins?” Roman’s voice cuts through the noise as he approaches, drink in hand. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Don’t start,” I warn him, though there’s no heat in it.
Roman laughs, clapping me on the shoulder. “The things we do for them.”
I grunt in agreement, accepting the beer he hands me. The cold bottle is a comfort in this unfamiliar territory.
“Where’s Cheryl?” Nora asks, looking around the crowded room.
