“Time to go, Princess,” he said, leaning over to kiss my shoulder. The brush of his lips sent shivers over my skin, or maybe that was the wind in November.
I drew my bow across the strings one last, long time and then turned to him.
He kissed me, dropping to his knees so he was my height in the chair. He kissed me like there wasn’t a cello between us, like he couldn’t help himself, like he meant it.
I kissed him back, and for a long, perfectly drawn-out moment, I was flying, soaring, a kite in that perfect sky, before he pulled away after cupping my face for one long moment while he stared into my eyes with something swirling in his own eyes, something I wanted to soak in for the rest of my life.
“I could kiss you forever,” he finally said before he stood and led me to the temporary booth that had come along with dinner and the sleek black cello that had hopefully not been damaged by the wind. I couldn’t stop smiling as I got dressed back in jeans and a pink t-shirt with a pale pink cardigan. Dirk was certainly scheming something devious, but he also liked kissing me. I was almost sure of it.
30
VILLAIN
At the camp, where we pulled in after everything was set up, we had another wardrobe change. I’d never been camping, but I imagined they weren’t usually quite as well-styled, with flannel shirts and jeans that were somehow all coordinating, mine pink and cream plaid to match Dirk’s, while Jezebel’s and Nix’s were blue and cream while Trix’s was light blue and dark blue, because I don’t know why, but it reminded me of Horse.
“Okay, team,” Nix said, holding up a bottle of some kind of soda. “Second year running without alcohol sponsors, thanks to Jezebel’s moral stand against spirits, and the way she negotiated the last deal with her lighter. There’s probably something immoral about lighting a man on fire, but I digress. This soda isn’t great, but you know the drill. Smiles, laughter, a wholesome camp-out with musical instruments.”
“Musical what?” Jezebel said, eyes widening in shock that may have been genuine.
“Harmonica, Jezebel. I know for a fact you’ve got harmonica chops. I’ll take guitar. Dirk’s on banjo, and Trix will also have aguitar, but we won’t close-up any of her fancy playing, because no pressure.”
Trix snorted, hands on hips. “I’m not musical. At all. I won’t be able to even fake strum in time.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Like I said, distant shots of Trix looking gorgeous and talented without getting too close to disturb her musical zone.”
I raised my hand. “What should I play?”
Everyone looked at me as if I’d started speaking a different language.
Nix licked his lips and then smiled sweetly. “Ah, such a joker. We have a nice campfire cello brought in just for you, a pretty golden color that will go with all the other instruments.”
“Cello and banjo?” I turned to Dirk. “Do you really play banjo?”
He shrugged. “I can strum.”
It was going to be a disaster. I licked my lips and then smiled at Nix. “Did you come up with a songs list too?”
He smiled back at me. “I didn’t. I thought I’d leave that to you.”
“I’ve never been camping. I have no idea how to arrange for the variety of instruments that you so casually threw together.”
He patted my head, and I grabbed his wrist, twisting it just so. He responded to the pain with a casually raised brow. “Don’t stress out about it. I’m sure whatever you pick will be fine.”
“And you’re such a fine guitarist that you’ll be able to follow whatever songs I choose? And a banjo?”
“Don’t forget the harmonica,” Jezebel drawled. “Nix, you’ve had some good ideas, but you’ve also had some real stinkers. I’m thinking this is the latter.”
He smiled at her, looking so friendly and harmless. “Won’t know until we try it. Dani, if you’d be so kind as to give me my hand back. Your husband looks all kinds of jealous.”
I looked over at Dirk and kind of forgot about Nix with the way he was looking at me, so intent and sincere. “You’re the video guy. What do you think?”
“You and a cello? It will look good. We’ll play around you. Just do what you want and enjoy yourself. The sound can be adjusted later.”
“And the banjo?”
He smiled and mimed strumming. “How hard can it be?”
It was going to be a disaster, and it would be broadcast to the world. At least I knew that the shots would be beautiful.
