“Well, have you?”
God, Hayes. She didnotwant to talk about this. “No,” she answered.
“And has the social media died down, or are you still being bashed online?” Hayes persisted.
Wren caught Poppy’s sympathetic gaze and lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug. Hayes was only asking because he cared, but she wished he’d asked when Dane wasn’t present.
“It’s mostly died down,” she told him, silently begging him, or anyone, to change the subject.
Hayes did not get her silent message. “Dane, Wren’s last guy proposed to her online, she said no, and, because he is some hotshot pop-star dude, his fans went after her.”
Dane placed his hand on her thigh and squeezed. “I know.”
She whipped her head around to look at him. “You do?” she demanded, surprised. “How?”
“It came up when I plugged your name into the search browser,” he replied, composed as always. “In my opinion, it was either a publicity stunt or a shit-stupid thing to do. Who proposes on a livestream anyway? Judging by the fact that the proposal went viral, it had to be a publicity stunt. What a dick.”
Oh. My. Hat.
Dane googled her?Whaaat? Just when she thought he was the coolest guy she’d ever encountered (except when he wasdancing), unflappable, stoic, and radiating capability and confidence, he did something a little geeky, and very damn normal. Spectacularly human.
“Is he the reason you’re spending the summer in H-Town?” Dane asked, leaving his hand on her thigh, warm, solid, and entirely too confident. Heat shot up her and raced straight to the spot that absolutely did not need any encouragement. Her brain crackled and popped and then short-circuited.
“Mmm,” she managed, just.
If this was her reaction to a single touch, then God help her if he did more. And she wanted more. Desperately, stupidly, deliciously more.
Her breath caught, the skin on her inner thigh seemed to fizz under his fingertips, and she felt her composure sliding away. She turned her head, their gazes colliding—and there she saw her own heat staring right back at her. The air between them was charged, and if he slid his hand an inch higher, she’d turn into ayes, please, take me nowwreck of a woman.
Wren took a long sip of her icy beer and, needing a distraction, looked around and clocked the still busy night outside the tent. People browsed the stalls, tourists took photos of the tropics-on-acid-inspired Halloween decorations, and couples shuffled around the makeshift dance floor.
“I love summer in H-Town,” Poppy commented, echoing Wren’s thoughts, as she often did.
Wren grabbed the change of subject like a lifeline. “Mmm. Everyone is gearing up for the Summerween events, which means even more tourists.”
“There seem to be enough here already,” Poppy commented. “Has Luna taken over the world yet?”
Wren, a good deal of her attention still on the hand on her thigh, smiled. “Close, but not quite,” she replied, happy to discover she could hold a rational conversation. “There’s a series of events leading up to the Bonfire of the Bewitched—summer version—on Lammas Eve. Tonight is the first event, followed by Float and Fright Night—a lakeside movie night. Apparently, the big screen will face the water, and everyone will watch the scary movies from an inflatable, canoe, or raft of their choice.”
Poppy grinned. “That sounds cool.” She tapped her chin. “I wonder if Benji would come if I asked? Probably not, since he’s such a baby and gets stupidly scared by horror movies.”
Since Benji never made the two-hour trip from Boston to H-Town, Wren knew that the chances of seeing him that night, or at any other town event, were less than zero.
Wren continued. “Then there’s the Boos and Boats costume party, and the Witches and Warlocks Paddleboard Parade happens that same night. Then it’s Lammas celebration on the thirty-first, which includes the concert and Bonfire of the Bewitched.”
“That sounds like a lot,” Poppy commented. “Are your dance-class teenagers any good?”
“They are, actually. There are a couple of standout dancers, so I might make them do a routine of their own, with the others doing something less complicated behind them.”
“Are you going to take part in the concert, too, doc?” Hayes asked looking at Dane. His eyes glinted with mischief.
Dane’s hand gripped her thigh, and when she looked at him, Wren caught his shellshocked expression. “Hell, no. Mydeal with Penn only includes dance practice; nothing was said about a concert.”
Poppy cocked her head. “Do you hate it that much?”
Dane took a moment to answer. “Hate is a strong word. I’m just sobadat it.”
Wren suspected that he wasn’t used to failing at something, that being smart and athletic, there weren’t many challenges he hadn’t managed to conquer.
