Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs, #5)(70)

“Jimmy Bob’s been taking banjo lessons from Mayor Hornsbladt,” my mother said proudly.

I made a mental note to remind her of that particular statement later. And add it to the list of things said only in Bootleg Springs.

“Really? That’s great, Jimmy Bob,” I said.

The big bear of a man blushed pink, his barn-broad shoulders hunching. “It’s just a fun hobby,” he said. “Drive safe now, you hear?”

“Will do, Jimmy Bob,” I said, stepping onto the fire escape.

My mom gave me a sunny smile, which I returned.

She’d been cagey about when she was returning to Jetty Beach. She’d had a month’s worth of vacation days saved up from all the years she’d never taken one. And since the diner where she worked back in Jetty Beach was closed for renovations, there seemed to be no rush to get back. Not when she was enjoying her own summer fling.

“Have a nice night, y’all,” I said. “Thanks for the beer.”

Shit. I’d said y’all. Bootleg Springs claimed another victim.

I got in my car and headed in the direction of home. My windows were down, letting the evening summer breeze into the car. Fireflies lit up and snuffed out, working out their own kind of Morse code on the humid night air. The crickets and tree frogs were competing for loudest celebration in the woods that flashed past my headlights.

I tapped my hands on the wheel in time to the Darius Rucker song I’d cranked and turned into the gravel drive of the Little Yellow House.

I felt good. Better than good. Especially when I thought of Shelby waiting for me at home.

Shelby.

Just thinking about her made me smile, I thought as the back of the house came into view. I knew it was a summer thing. A fling.

And maybe that was part of this feeling.

We were free to have fun, to just enjoy.

We’d developed our own routine. Waking early before any obligations, spending the first quiet moments of the day naked and playful. Learning each other’s bodies. Most mornings, we worked out together, and in the evenings, I cooked and Shelby cleaned while we filled each other in on our days. Billy Ray at our feet or in our laps. In a sense, we were playing house without the strain of commitments and responsibilities. Of expectations and futures.

I wouldn’t mind summer nights like this in my future, coming home to Shelby. More nights tangled up in the sheets, eating cold leftovers naked in bed while we laughed and talked.

I hoped that was the agenda for tonight.

I wouldn’t mind if it was on the agenda every night. The thought, fleeting though it was, caught my attention. Could we find a way to make our own endless summer? Was that even a possibility? Was it something that I really wanted?

There were cars here, I noted, pulling around the front of the house.

My plans for a quiet, naked night evaporated.

I got out from behind the wheel to Billy Ray’s excited yips. The front porch was dressed for fancy. Candles winked in the darkness, and a string of lights glowed on the railing, illuminating a linen-covered table set for two, a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, and… was that a string quartet?

Yep. It looked as though Shelby had raided the Bootleg Springs High School band. The kids were dressed in the teenage version of fancy in jeans and black t-shirts. The cellist had braces.

I took a tentative step forward, and the quartet began to play a quiet country—of course—ballad.

But what caught and held my attention was Shelby. She stood on the top step in a pink party dress with a low scoop neck and a full skirt. She was smiling ear to ear, hands clasped in front of her.

“What’s all this?” I asked, climbing the steps to her.

She leaned in and gave me a soft kiss. I tried to be mindful of our underage audience. But I still had a brain full of naked plans.

Her lips against mine, the soft brush of her body, the night air filled with nature’s song. It went straight to my head. I wouldn’t need the champagne. I was already buzzing.

“You’re not the only one who wants to be memorable,” she said, pulling back with a grin. The woman could light up a room or an entire front yard with that smile.

“Shelby, there isn’t a chance on this Earth that I won’t be remembering you when I’m eighty and leading a chair yoga class at the retirement home,” I teased.

“Just making sure,” she said.

Billy Ray scrambled against my leg, demanding his share of the attention. I leaned down to scoop him up but couldn’t resist giving Shelby another kiss. Pretty in pink. Her dark bangs framed those wide eyes that sparkled like all the joy in the world lived inside her.

She took my breath away.

“Come on, dinner’s ready,” she said, leading me to the table.

I gave the dog a snuggle and a kiss before setting him down in front of his food and water dishes. A family dinner, I realized.

“You cooked?” I asked, trying to hide the apprehension.

“I ordered out,” Shelby said smugly. She pointed to the heaping Cobb salads on the plates.

“Hi, guys,” I said, giving the quartet a little wave. Fingers on strings and bows wiggled back.

I sat and admired the view as Shelby adjusted her skirts across from me.

“You’re a hell of a girl, Shelby Thompson.”

“Thank you for noticing, Jonah Bodine.” She batted her lashes coyly, and I laughed.