Over the sound of the sprinklers, a commercial blasted from Logan’s truck.
“Now, don’t get your hopes up for the rest of our dates. I don’t dance. But I’m willing to make the exception here. I found some random playlist called Party Animal Dance Music. I have no idea what’s coming. We dance to the next three songs, whatever style, and then call it a night.” He pierced me with a weighted gaze as he added, “Then, we never speak of this to anyone.”
“Why the sprinklers, though?”
He made a sound of impatient disbelief. “It’s the rain.”
“The what?”
He sighed. “Dancing in the rain. We don’t have rain, so I had to make it myself.”
I was loving where this was going, but I still found myself confused. “So, you're making this more romantic? With the fake rain?”
He stilled, his eyes peering into mine warily. “No. I’m stamping the memory into your brain with the cold water. If it was just dancing, it wouldn’t erase the past. Do you know anything about overriding bad memories?”
My head fell onto his chest while I grinned and tried to collect myself. Already the blast of the water had turned my body numb. We were both soaked, and I was glad I had chosen to wear a blue shirt and not the white one I had debated over. I wanted to cry for the cuteness of it all. The sweetness. And the earnest-but-reserved look in Logan’s eyes as he studied me.
“Party Animal Dance Music. This is making it sound like youarea dancer,” I said, smiling up at him.
“It’s notmyplaylist. Although, I am starting to feel a little nervous about it.”
We faced each other, and I shivered, waiting for the Botox commercial to end.
The familiar lively tune of “Cotton-Eye Joe” suddenly blasted into the orchard. Logan looked horrified before pulling away from me to make a run for his truck.
“No!” I grabbed his arm and pulled him back to me, laughing. “No changing! Youhaveto dance to this.”
His shoulders dropped, but only for a second, before he grabbed my hand and began twirling me in front of him, my hair flying out in long strands like the swing ride at the county fair. Drops of water flew off my body. He spun me until I was dizzy and out of breath before pulling me close with his left hand and his right grabbing mine as our moves became exaggerated and extremely country.
“YMCA” rolled in seamlessly next, and before I knew what he was doing, he picked me up and, in some hot, manly way, maneuvered my body so I was sitting on his shoulders. His hands were on my legs while I clung to his head for dear life as we pranced around the orchard shouting the lyrics at the top of our lungs. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief that my parents were out to dinner with friends tonight. The last song began as I slid down from Logan’s shoulders. We were both panting and grinning and teasing before we noticed that the third song was not like the others.
Our laughter faded. Logan’s brow furrowed as the slow, steel-guitar entry began filling the orchard with a mood that was equally sobering as it was sweet. Suddenly, I was all hands and limbs, shy and unsure as to why somebody’s idea of party music was really a sweet country song called “Dirt.” Logan’s gaze flicked to mine, watching me carefully. His body stood rigid, as if he was unsure of what to do as well. I was guessing there was a reason he had chosen party songs—to keep us from having a moment like this. Resolve flashed on his face. He stepped into my space, grabbing my left hand with his right while his other hand held my waist. Proper. The way a groom would dance with his mother at his wedding. Three Bibles could have fit nicely between us.
“Bak, bak, bak,” I couldn’t help but crow.
Logan glared at me. “Rule breaker.” He lasted a stubborn twenty more seconds into the song before he dropped my hand.
“That way sucks,” he mumbled.
He drew me against his body, clasping his hands together behind my back. He felt rigid, as though he was keeping himself in careful check. My arms went immediately around his shoulders. The cold had been forgotten about two songs ago, my body long since numb. Though he was drenched under the same cold water I was, unlike mine, his body emitted warmth. A full-body shiver came over me as the heat from his body began to thaw the ice from mine. I lifted my head to look at him when he immediately pushed my head back down against his chest.
“Nope. You aren’t allowed to look at me like that,” he murmured.
“Like what?” I asked with my face squished against his body while the song crooned on about the important things in life.
“With big Bambi eyes and this song…no. You can’t look at me. We have rules.”
A grin lit my face, and I didn’t try to hold it back. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t see it anyway. His grip on my head had softened to something more like a caress, though I didn’t look up at him again. He held me now like a hug—one arm around me with the other at my head, methodically running his fingers through my hair. He didn’t kiss me. He didn’t cradle my face like in the ditch. He wouldn’t even look at me. But for once, he wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t flirting. And his reaction hinted at things he wouldn’t while he tucked me close and held me as we swayed back and forth to a really good song.
Even when another song began to play, this time sounding like another true party song, he didn’t release me. I began to suspect it was because he didn’t know what to do with me. He was scared of what hecoulddo with me. I had no idea if my attempts at half-court press had been noticed by Logan, but they felt huge to me. My heart was out there for the taking, and I felt like I was in limbo, waiting to see if he would reach out. We had only a couple more dates until the end of our summer. The overnight camping trip to the hot springs. And then it was up to Logan. I was about to lift my head to play another card when his body tightened.
He released me as the words to the music became more prominent. I met his confused gaze with my own questioning glance. He was listening for something. So, I did too. What was this song? It seemed so familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it just…
Realization dawned on us at the exact same time. With squeals and wheezy laughter, we took off running toward the truck, Logan ahead of me, my hands at his back, pushing him forward to stop what was coming next.
We were too late.
We reached the truck at the same time the chorus of Nelly’s “Hot in Herre” blasted out in booming decibels. Logan stopped suddenly, causing me to run into him. He turned and, with a wicked gleam in his eye, began lifting up the hem of his shirt.
