Page 126 of The Dixon Rule

“That’s hardcore.”

“I know. If you ever meet him, ask him to tell you some of his stories. He’s been involved in two hostage crises, one where they had to shoot the hostage taker.”

Shane whistles under his breath. “Shit. Did he pull the trigger?”

“No, one of his snipers did, but he gave the order. Dad says sometimes that’s even harder to swallow. The knowledge that you ordered someone’s death but then had someone else do the dirty work.”

“Yeah, I can’t even imagine.”

He turns right on a residential street lined with more of those ancient trees. Sunlight filters through the leaves, casting a dappled pattern on the road. This town is stunning.

“This is us,” Shane says, pulling into the wide driveway in front of a beautiful Victorian home with a wraparound porch and three-car garage. “Ready, Girlfriend?”

“Born ready, Boyfriend.”

Inside, we’re welcomed by Shane’s parents and a Maryanne tornado who throws her arms around my waist in an ecstatic hug.

“You came!” she exclaims. “I’m so happy!”

I’m obsessed with Shane’s parents from the moment I meet them. His dad, Ryan, is all jokes and smiles, and his mom is more welcoming than I expected. Usually, I’m a hit with my boyfriends’ dads, while the moms grill me at every chance they get. But April Lindley, while asking the occasional prying question about my relationship with her son, treats me like a long-lost daughter from the get-go.

I feel a bit bad lying about our relationship, but the more we talk, the more I realize I’m not doing much lying. I laugh about how he annoyed me all year. How a part of me still can’t believe I let him convince me to be his girlfriend. And none of that is a lie—swap the word girlfriend for friend with benefits, and that’s exactly what happened.

God help me, but we’re friends now. We have a TV show we watch together almost every night. We’re dance partners, for Pete’s sake. A fact that Shane’s mom finds downright hilarious when we discuss it during dinner.

“I don’t even want to know how you got that boy to agree to this,” April says, giggling into her water glass.

“You must be something special,” his dad agrees, grinning at me.

The Lindleys make an unlikely couple. April is elegant. Extremely put-together. She’s wearing khakis and a silk blouse for a dinner in her own house. Ryan, meanwhile, gives off scruffy vibes with his sweatpants and dirty-blond hair to his chin. He looks like he should be surfing the waves, not running a successful, multimillion-dollar business.

And then Maryanne, well, she’s Maryanne. She shows me her room, her science trophies, her favorite books. My head is spinning by the time she takes me to the guest room, where I’ll be staying. I’m sort of relieved by the Lindley house rule: no sleeping in the same room. If I were sharing a bed with Shane, there’s no way his considerable penis wouldn’t make an appearance, and there’s no chance in hell of me being quiet while he uses it on me. Better to resist temptation.

I deposit my weekend bag on the bed and fish out a pair of loose plaid pants and a T-shirt. Maryanne informed us that we were watching a movie after dinner, and I want to throw on some comfy clothes. Shane’s making the popcorn as we speak. I also pull out my little black dress and hang it in the closet. It’s what I’m wearing for the anniversary party tomorrow.

“Hey.” Shane appears in the doorway. “My mom says if you need extra pillows or blankets, they’re in the linen closet next to the guest bath.”

“Thanks. Close the door? I want to change.”

He steps in and shuts the door behind him. As I pull off my tight top and replace it with the baggy tee, Shane tips his head, his eyes gleaming with seduction.

“Do you want me to sneak in here after everyone’s asleep?”

I was just thinking how we shouldn’t have sex. Which means the answer to that question should be no.

Yet when I open my mouth, the wrong one-syllable word slips out.

“Yes.”

The Lindley anniversary party is being held in a large private room at a restaurant that doubles as a banquet hall. When we walk in, we’re greeted by the animated hum of conversation and the inviting aroma of Italian food. The large room, with its soft lighting, earthy tones, and rustic wooden furniture, offers a warm ambiance that brings a smile to my lips. At the far end of the room is a small band playing acoustic bluegrass music.

I think I’m in love with Heartsong, Vermont.

There are about sixty people in attendance, but Shane only has time to make a few introductions before we’re ushered to our table for dinner. All the tables are adorned with simple centerpieces, and we’ve been seated with his parents, sister, his mother’s twin Ashley, and Shane’s maternal grandparents.

Like I told Shane yesterday, I don’t get nervous for these events. Tonight is no exception, although that could have something to do with how friendly and welcoming everybody is.

While the restaurant staff moves gracefully among the tables, Shane’s family regales us with stories that have me in hysterics. Turns out Shane’s parents were high school sweethearts. His grandmother tells me about the first time April brought Shane’s dad home to meet her parents, how a seventeen-year-old Ryan was so desperate to make a good impression on his girlfriend’s parents that he didn’t want to admit his stomach couldn’t handle spicy food. So when April’s mom served him a five-alarm chili for dinner, he ate every last bite—and wound up a red-faced, snot-nosed, puking mess in their upstairs bathroom.

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