She reaches for the radio power button and tunes it to the local country station, which is no surprise.

“It’s not like there was much else to do around here. We’d pool our money for gas and get out of town when someone had their parents’ car. You could only eat so much Mr. Burger. Besides, A&W is the best. You can’t get root beer like that just anywhere.”

Her smile is infectious, and I lean over the center console to press a kiss to her lips before I back out and head in the direction of Gold Haven.

An hour later, I’ve learned a few things. First, Holly knows the lyrics to every damn country song on the radio. Second, listening to her attempt to sing bass notes is fucking adorable. And third, I need to come up with a foolproof way to calm my dick down, because she gets me harder than a rock without even trying.

The way she wiggles her ass in the seat and uses her fist as a microphone and belts out the songs . . . Jesus. I was tempted to pull the car over several times and fuck her senseless on the shoulder of the road. The only thing that stops me is knowing that she’s likely still sore as hell from yesterday. I haven’t missed her wincing this morning, and given how badly I want her, there’s no way I’ll be able to take it easy.

Since the main streets are blocked off for Winterfest, we pull onto one of the side streets. I still have no idea what Winterfest actually entails, but I see a big tent in the middle of the street and lots of outdoor heaters set up. I’m assuming there’s beer involved, which isn’t unwelcome.

Once we’re parked, I’m out of the car and opening Holly’s door before she can get out. She looks surprised. I shut the door behind her, lace my fingers through her gloved ones, and we head toward the revelry. As we get closer to the tent with lights strung from the sides, I see a bar and a band and a dance floor. Some people crowd around the bar while others are line dancing. The noise dies down a decibel or two when people catch sight of us.

“It seems we’ve been spotted,” I say.

“Of course. You’re hard to miss.” Holly looks sideways at me.

“Me? I’m not the drop-dead sexy one here.”

Her eyebrows go up. “I would argue that point. Do you see the drool dripping from those Cover Girl lips pouting at the bar?”

Not bothering to look in the direction she indicated, I stare down at her, hoping to make one thing very clear. “I don’t see anyone but you, Holly.” When she flushes pink, I squeeze her hand. “Care to dance?”

This time her eyebrows hit her hairline. “You know how to line dance?”

“Not even a little bit,” I admit. “But I thought you could teach me.”

She laughs, and I fight the urge to drag her out of the tent and back home to break another fucking table.

Holly twines her fingers in mine. “I’d be happy to school you in something, Mr. Karas,” she drawls.

I lean down and speak directly into her ear. “You already did. In love.”

She squeezes my hand and presses a kiss to my jaw. “That was cheesy as hell, and for the record, I loved it.” She pulls me toward the dance floor just as the band announces they’re taking a quick break.

“Well, hell. I guess we’ll have to wait to teach you the Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”

“You really gonna get Karas out on the dance floor?” a familiar voice booms out.

When I look over my shoulder, I see Logan Brantley coming toward us with a beer in each hand.

I nod at his full load. “Double fisting tonight, Brantley?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. Was being polite and grabbed one for you, man. But if you don’t want it, I know your wife likes a cold Bud just fine.”

Holly shakes her head. “Oh no, I’m not drinking tonight. I may not ever drink again.”

“An old pro like you? Damn, Holly.”

“It’s not like she’s been able to drink for that long.” I look down at my wife. “Unless you were a juvenile delinquent.”

Holly just shrugs. “There’s not much else to do around here, I guess. Everyone looked the other way. Spent a lot of nights out in a field, chillin’ on the tailgate of a truck backed up to a bonfire, stereo rockin’ and a keg iced down in the bed.” She laughs. “It sounds just like one of Boone’s songs, probably because he writes from his experience just like I do.”

Her expression turns wistful. “That’s the best damn thing about country music. The heart and the truth. Writing about things that real people can relate to because we live it. We sing about our lives and our roots and the heart of us.” Holly shakes her head. “Now I’m sounding all melancholy like I’ve been drinking. You better take that beer from Logan before I grab it.”

I accept the beer, and Logan lifts his in a toast. “Cheers to the newlyweds.”

We clink our bottles and I take a drink. It’s not the fancy microbrew Cannon drinks, or my usual scotch or whiskey, but it’s cold and delicious. The smile on Holly’s face makes it taste even better.

“You better get in line for the food too, before that’s all gone. You’re almost too late as it is,” Logan says.

“No need, we’ve already sampled the goodness of A&W this evening.”

Logan looks sideways at me and Holly. “You let her drag you an hour away for burgers?”

“And cheese fries,” Holly adds.

“You’re a good man,” Logan says, raising his bottle to his lips.

Holly shivers, and I release her hand in favor of wrapping my arm around her and pulling her into my side to keep her warm. It’s probably an excuse, but I’d rather have her closer.

“Probably better than I deserve,” Holly whispers.

I don’t know what prompts her comment, but both Logan and I hear it and take issue with it.

“Now listen here—” he starts, but I interrupt.

“Not nearly good enough for you, if you ask me. But I’m working on it.”

When the band comes back from their break and launches into an upbeat number, Logan motions with his beer.

“I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. I got my eye on a likely lady for the night, and two-steppin’ is a sure way to get her warmed up.”

I don’t turn to watch him leave because I’ve got my full attention on Holly. “You want to teach me to two-step, sweetheart?”