She bent over to dig around in her little refrigerator and Troy felt a fever coming on. Those yoga pants had a real nice fit. He had to look away, take a breath. Sometimes, he reminded himself, you don’t notice what’s right in front of you. He’d spent all that time thinking Iris was right for him. Even though she made it clear it was a no-go, he never bothered to get to know any other women and here was Grace, right under his nose. Making him hot.

She was complicated, he knew that. She said her life was boring, not much to tell, solitary...and he knew that was just a cover. And he didn’t mind at all.

“Then let me help,” he said, joining her.

They put together a fabulous plate of nachos, ran out of salsa very quickly since that little fridge couldn’t hold much and cupboard space was at a premium. They spent the next hour talking about the town, the rivers Troy liked to run in the summer, the kids he taught. Every time he asked Grace a question about herself she gave him a brief answer and steered the conversation back to him.

“You know there are dorm rooms bigger than this loft,” he said to her. “You live like a college student.”

“I know. I’m keeping my life simple and my expenses down until the shop does better, and it’s doing better all the time. There aren’t that many weddings in Thunder Point, but I get a lot of weddings out of town. They’re killers but they pay like mad. Where do you live?”

“In a small old apartment on the edge of town that’s decorated with castoffs from my folks. You’re saving for the flower shop and I’m saving for travel.” He noticed her eyes widened and wondered where it came from. Envy? Longing? Surprise? Something else? He told her about the dive trips in summer, ski trips in winter, hunting trips with old Marine Corps buddies here and there.

“Marines?” she asked.

“I did a year of community college, enlisted, went to Iraq and got out. That’s how I finished college—GI Bill. I was a lowly jarhead but I made some excellent friends. There’s good hunting in the mountains not far from here. I’ll take you sometime if you like.”

“Oh, I’ve never touched a gun,” she said. “I couldn’t hunt.”

“Then I’ll take you for the scenery.”

Just then, as they were talking about guns, something that sounded like gunshots punctuated the night. Almost as if choreographed, they both turned to open the shutters behind the couch. In the sky above the bay, fireworks blasted the dark sky, exploding into bright fireballs and falling in sparkling streamers.

“Fireworks,” she said in a breath.

“The wind has been too high in the couple of years I’ve been here,” Troy said. “I think Cliff hires someone to do it. Not bad, for a dumpy little town.”

“This place surprises me all the time.”

Troy turned to her and caught her chin in his finger and thumb. He leaned his forehead against hers. “Me, too.”

“Listen, Troy,” she said, and there was no mistaking nervousness in her voice. “I... There are things...”

He stopped her by kissing her gently. He slid his hand around her head to the nape of her neck under her ponytail. His kiss was soft, brief and gentle. Instinct told him he was dealing with a major unknown emotional situation and should go slowly, carefully. He moved over her lips very tenderly.

“What things?” he asked.

She took a breath. “I didn’t exactly tell the whole story about my family, about growing up...”

“I know,” he said.

“How? Do you know things about me? Is there something...”

“Shh,” he said. “I’m a high school teacher. I can smell excuses and evasion a mile away. It’s an acquired skill. So there’s more to you? That’s okay, Gracie. Don’t panic. You’ll tell me when you feel safe.”

“Okay?” she said, more of a question than a reply.

He chuckled. “Okay. We’re just friends. And we’re getting to know each other. Take it easy.”

Then he leaned in again, taking another taste of her lips as the popping, exploding sound of fireworks provided the background music. Again he was gentle and sweet because the last thing he wanted was to scare her off.

“I’m not experienced,” she whispered when their lips parted.

“Well, except for the navy SEAL, knight and vampire?” he asked with a laugh in his voice.

She smiled against his lips. “Yes, except for them there aren’t many experiences. I made out with a guy named Johnny when I was fifteen. For about ten hours I think. He was fantastic and turned out to be gay. Such has been my luck.”

He gave her a little kiss. “I’m not.”

“Yeah, I was afraid of that.”

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “It’s all good.”

“Should we be down on the dock, watching the fireworks?” she asked.

“Uh-uh,” he said, shaking his head. “We should be right here.” Then his arms tightened around her and he covered her mouth again with kisses that had become hot, demanding and promising.

* * *

Troy left at around one in the morning but Grace stayed on the couch. She grabbed a pillow and blanket and decided to spend the night right there, where it all happened, where the kissing and snuggling and whispering took place. She was still licking her lips, touching them with her fingertips, contemplating his skill, his taste. The last time she’d been kissed was in Portland by a nephew of Ross and Mamie’s. That was over two years ago. His name was Gary, last name long forgotten. He’d attached himself to her mouth like a plunger and attempted a tonsillectomy with his tongue. He’d gotten away with that three times before she finally told him to stop.

There were some things for which she had very little training and one of them was romantic relationships. She hadn’t been in a position to have boyfriends. And if she did have a crush, which happened rarely, her flirting felt conspicuous and clumsy. She’d had a crush on Troy, as it happened, but because she was Iris’s friend and Troy had been trailing Iris for a year, she never let on. Growing up, she trained mostly alone, the only exception being her father’s younger students—almost exclusively girls. There were men on the skating competition circuit and other athletes competing in some of the national and world competitions. Some of the figure skaters she competed against were so much more womanly—tall, with breasts, worldly, sexy, flirtatious. And they hated her. They had plenty of reasons—she was raised with money while many of them had parents who worked several jobs to pay for their training, not that that had anything much to do with one’s ability to perform a perfect double axel. She often competed against older skaters because her talent meant she was a force to be reckoned with. But the other girls tended to act as if she could buy the medals.