Another firework flashes and lights up his handsome features that make me want to tackle him regardless of his answer.
“You didn’t know that?” He hikes a brow, amused as he pulls me close. He’s fighting a grin and so am I.
“I didn’t. But guess what? I love you, too.”
“You do?” His eyes widen a notch, letting me know I’ve managed to trip him almost as badly as he just tripped me. In the very best way, of course.
Watson barks his approval of these sappy sentiments, then begins investigating Cooper’s wet clothes like it’s very important research into the scent profile of lake water and heroic masculinity.
“It must be true love,” I say, tucking Buttercup back into her holster, and it’s as if the world has been restored to proper order. “Most guys bring flowers. You bring firearms retrieved from aquatic crime scenes.”
“I’m not most guys,” Cooper points out, pulling me even closer until I can feel the heat radiating from his body despitethe fact that he’s dripping wet. “And you are definitely not most women.”
Before I can respond with something appropriately sarcastic and flirtatious, a burst of laughter and music draws our attention toward the pavilion area where the remnants of a very successful social experiment are playing out under the stars.
“Is the Sparks and Stripes Speed Dating event still going on?” I ask, spotting couples dancing to music.
“It is and it looks like it’s a success,” Cooper says, and we crane our necks to get a better look at the romantic musical chairs that apparently concluded with a little dancing rather than the exchange of business cards and awkward small talk.
And there’s Loretta, spinning under the lights with a cowboy who looks age-appropriate and financially stable—a plot twist no one saw coming.
Now there’s a shocker.
“Well, I’ll be darned.” Cooper shakes his head, watching his sister laugh as her partner dips her under the twinkle lights. “She actually found someone in her age range with functioning adult skills.”
“And a cowboy hat,” I point out. “That’s very all-American. Your family’s going to love the optics.”
Watson approves, then immediately gets distracted by Nona Jo and Flip Flapjack dancing like teenagers at prom.
She’s managed to maintain her beehive despite the chaos, and Flip looks as if he’s discovered the secret to happiness involves dancing with Italian grandmothers who could intimidate professional wrestlers—and still have the energy to bake the world’s best anise cookies.
“Think they’ll make it through a whole song without your grandmother starting a fight?” Cooper asks, watching as Nona Jo executes a surprisingly graceful spin that makes her sparklydress flash just enough to ensure everyone here knows that she’s still the main event.
“That depends on whether Flip steps on her feet,” I reply. “Nona Jo takes her dancing very seriously. She once broke up with a guy because he couldn’t keep time.” Actually, I think she shot him in the foot, but I’m keeping that bullet-shaped tidbit to myself.
“Remind me never to ask her to dance,” Cooper says solemnly.
“Wise move,” I tell him.
The music softens and couples draw closer as the night settles into something warm and dangerously romantic.
“Dance with me?” Cooper asks, offering his hand as if the fact we’re still dripping wet is irrelevant.
“We’re dripping on the grass,” I point out, but I’m taking it because there’s something irresistible about a man who’s willing to fish your gun out of a lake and then asks you to dance like it’s the most natural progression in the world. It really should be.
“Turns out, we’re waterproof,” Cooper says, pulling me into his arms. This man knows exactly how to hold a woman, and I’m glad I’m that woman.
We sway together to the music, and despite the fact we’re damp enough to qualify as human sprinkler systems, everything feels perfect in that way that only happens when you’re dancing with someone who makes you forget about dead bodies and family drama and the moral complexities of your double life as a cookie pusher-slash-assassin.
Watson circles us like a very enthusiastic backup dancer.
“I love our dog, too,” Cooper murmurs into my ear, his breath warm against my skin in a way that makes me temporarily forget we’re in public.
“He loves the attention,” I say, watching Watson ham it up.
In the distance, Aunt Cat and Carlotta appear to be holding court with what appears to be the entire cleanup crew—and possibly planning something that will require legal counsel later.
“Those two are something else,” Cooper says.
