Page 37 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

“Thank heavens for that,” I say.

Lexie frowns. “I was kidding.”

I drink from my beer and pretend I was kidding too.

“You have other nieces and nephews?” I ask.

“Yes! Hunter and Petra have two kids. They are so fun. And cute. Exhausting though. Like little balls of energy.”

“I bet you have no trouble keeping up,” I say with a wink. I set down my last rib and wipe my hands on my napkin.

She laughs. “Even I get worn out.”

So her boundless energy has a limit, huh? What I wouldn’t give to be the reason.

The three musicians do a sound check from the stage, and the background music from the patio’s speaker quiets.

There’s a freckled redheaded kid on fiddle, a sweet-looking grandma playing stand-up bass wearing a pink bandana headband, and a tall guy with a beard on lead guitar and vocals.

“Evening,” the bearded guy says into the mic. “How is everyone tonight?”

The crowd on the patio hoots in reply.

My stomach flips with butterflies and a deep ache throbs through my chest. Even though I’m not up there on stage, I feel the band’s anticipation. The thrill and yearning and the desire.

Fuck I miss playing. I miss the way performing made me feel. Free. Inspired. A part of something.

The little folk band starts their set. The lead strums and sings, his voice in fine harmony with the woman. The kid on fiddle is a natural but hyperfocused, like he’s one with his instrument and looking up will sever the connection.

I tap my heel to the beat. They’re not bad.

A handful of people stand from their tables and weave to the tiny dance floor in front of the stage. Soon there are a dozen—a small sea of bodies jigging, colors swirling.

Quinn raises his eyebrow. A powerful surge of energy rises inside me.

I rise and offer Lexie my hand.

Her face goes still, her pretty eyes shining.

“Dance with me, sweetheart,” I say.

Lexie slides her small hand into mine, her smile a burst of sunshine.

I will time to slow down as I lead her to the tiny parquet floor in front of the stage. Try to savor the feel of her warm palm in mine, and the joy pulsing through me. It’s just a dance, yet the rhythm of moving with her means so much more.

Dressed in hiking shorts and dusty sneakers, I lead Lexie in a simple western swing. She catches on quickly, and with every sway of our bodies and twirl, I sense her trusting me a little bit more. The song ends but a quick tune comes next, and soon Lexie and I are spinning and swaying, my hands on her hips, or clasped in hers leading her around the dance floor.

My mom taught me to dance when I was young, before her eyes got bad. Back then, my dad would sometimes steal her away from me to twirl her around. It’s hard to even fathom that they loved each other like that, given how things changed, and how much hurt he caused her.

When the song ends, I pull Lexie to me. We’re both breathing fast, our bodies warm from the exertion and the humid night.

The moment is magnetic, tense with the emotions crowding into my chest, and the desire to kiss her and touch her so powerful I have to bite my cheek to stay grounded.

I comb through her silky hair and kiss the top of her head. She smells like the forest, and faintly of honey. Her grip on my waist tightens, and a tremor passes through her.

As much as I want her, I can’t stand the thought of hurting her. And if she doesn’t walk away, that’s how this will end.

Her lips press softly to my jawline.

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