Page 53 of That Rush

“With my parents. She chose an overnight visit and packed three pairs of underwear.”

“For one night?”

“She believes in emergency preparation.”

Paige smiles at her plate. “I respect that.”

Dinner disappears between an argument over whether the puzzle shows a lake or an ocean and her claim that the cookies make up for the fictional hero I insulted. By the time we carry the plates to the sink, the fading light has turned the front windows dark.

She picks up the paperback from the counter and opens it to the index card. “Chapter twenty-two. Interesting choice.”

“That’s where your man spends three pages explaining what he intends to do.”

“Anticipation is important.”

“He repeats himself.”

“He’s being thorough.”

“He should pay more attention to her. She tells him what she wants in the first paragraph.”

Paige looks up. The teasing in her expression softens into open interest. “You noticed that?”

“She says faster. He keeps talking.”

“He eventually listens.”

“Eventually isn’t impressive.”

The cabin has gone quiet enough that I hear the hitch in her breath.

She closes the book over one finger. “You seem invested.”

“I don’t like wasting words.”

“You dislike fictional competition.”

“I don’t consider him competition.”

“Because he isn’t real?”

“Because his follow-through needs work.”

Her eyes hold mine while she sets the book on the counter. “So that’s why you came all this way? To pick a fight with a book?”

The few feet between us feel smaller than they did when she handed me the plates. I move close enough to catch the faint scent of her shampoo—then stop, leaving enough space for her to step away if she wants to.

“I came to kiss you,” I say, “if you still want me to.”

Paige’s gaze drops to my mouth. “That sounds suspiciously like asking.”

“It is.”

“You’ve been very committed to the concept tonight.”

“I’m learning.”

“And if I say I still want you to?”