Page 42 of Off the Beaten Path

“Remember,” Leland says, “he’s not just her neighbor. They’ve been talking on that app for months.”

A smile touches my lips, because I’m so insanely thankful for them, for this little slice of privacy that I have in them, because I can tell them anything, and no one will know.

“Yes, yes,” Rae says. “I remember now. Continue.”

I flip my turn signal on to take the exit to Smithville. The road ahead grows brighter with the city lights, unlike Fontana Ridge, which is only illuminated by the moon and stars and occasional streetlight barely bright enough to break up the dense darkness coating the trees.

“Well, things between us have been…” I pause, looking for the word. “Different, I guess. I don’t know how to explain it, really. We still drive each other crazy most of the time, but we also…”

“Drive each other crazy,” Rae fills in, her voice taking on a suggestive quality, and I hear Leland’s rich, deep laugh through the phone.

A hot blush steals up my beard-burned cheeks. “Yeah,” I agree. “And tonight, after we finished working on the cabin, he asked if I wanted to grab dinner at Matty’s.”

“Please tell me you ended up necking in the hallway.”

Laughter rockets out of me because, more than anything, I wish Holden’s huge body was stuffed into my passenger seat right now, his hand on my thigh, his warm, quiet chuckle filling the tight space with me at hearing my sister use the termnecking.

“Actually, yes,” I say through my laughter. “We did.”

“Baby, please tell me you’re serious right now.” In my mind’s eye, I can see Rae shooting up off her couch and pacing the three steps she can make in either direction in her living room.

“I’m serious,” I tell her.

She lets out a soft sigh. “Was it so hot? He looks like he knows what he’s doing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Leland asks, and I know my pacing suspicion was correct, because his voice sounds far away again.

Rae sighs, sounding exasperated. “Leland, don’t sound toxically masculine. You can say a man looks like he knows what to do in bed without losing your man card.”

“I’m not toxically masculine,” he shoots back. I have to press my lips together to keep from laughing. “I just want to know what gives someone the look. Do I have the look?”

“Eh,” Rae and I both say, and Leland makes a defensive noise on the other line.

“It doesn’t mean youdon’tknow what you’re doing,” Rae assures him. “You definitely,definitelydo.”

I ask, “Do I need to be here for this?” I’m not liking the direction of this conversation.

“Yes,” they answer in unison.

Rae says, “You look like a college professor.”

“Iama college professor.”

“Yes, but college professors are hit or miss on this scale,” Rae explains. “They all look liketheythink they know what they’re doing, but only some of them actually do.”

“What other college professors are you sleeping with?” Leland asks, and this time I do laugh, loud and long, unable to hold it in any longer.

I can imagine Rae waving her hands wildly, trying to make her point. “No one. This is just common knowledge.”

Leland lets out a miffed sigh. “So what kind of man looks like he knows what he’s doing?”

“Mr. Darcy,” I answer easily.

“He looks like a nineteenth century college professor,” Leland says.

There’s a noise on the other end, like Rae is settling back on the couch to make her point. “It’s not really his looks. It’s the hand flex.”

“Ah, okay. I get it now,” Leland says, his voice brightening with understanding.

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