And Rhonda pulled away from Dave and confessed, “I thought it’d be … complicated—or hard to figure out how to do or somethin’.” And then she kissed Dave again. And the painting got squished between their bodies again. And then she pulled away again and said, “But it’s not.”

“Nope,” confirmed Dave, smiling goofily.

Rhonda kissed Dave again. And then she got up and rushed over to the old telephone bench by the door that led inside and carefully set the painting down on it. And then she turned to Dave and started hopping up and down, because she didn’t know what to do with all the extra energy that was coursing through her body, and said, “And I feel like I wanna keep kissing you—for a long time, but I also feel like I wanna do something else, next.” And then she suddenly stopped hopping and stood still and faced Dave and said, “But I don’t know what that is.”

Dave got up off the floor and raised his right hand as if he were taking an oath or letting a teacher know that he knew the answer to a question and said, “I do.” And then he slowly approached Rhonda. And reached out and took the zipper to her partially unzipped purple, red, and gray Polaris snowmobile jacket. And unzipped it. And then helped her take it off.

And then he unzipped his black, neon green, and white Arctic Cat jacket and took it off.

Rhonda and Dave stared at each other, hearts racing and their breathing audible.

And then Dave undid the Velcro on the not-quite-snowmobile-but-close-enough boots he got at Walmart in Presque Isle and pulled the left one off, tumbling onto the floor as he did. While he was down there, he pulled the right one off, too.

Rhonda laughed when Dave fell. And then followed his lead and started undoing the Velcro—and then the laces—of her black and gun-metal gray Polaris snowmobile boots. And then she tried to pull her left boot off, hopping all around and struggling to stay upright as she did. And she eventually tumbled onto the floor as she finally freed her foot from the boot’s stiff, waterproof confines.

And Dave was there to help her finish pulling her right boot off.

They laughed and then got back up on their feet, eyes locked, their hearts still racing and their breathing still audible.

And Rhonda waited for Dave to show her what was next.

And Dave did.

He unbuttoned and unzipped his black ski pants that worked well enough as snowmobile pants and started peeling them off.

And Rhonda did the same thing. Except her pants were actual snowmobile pants—Polaris brand—and they were gun-metal gray.

Their pants swished and swooshed as they peeled them off, and when they kicked their feet out of them, they stood facing one another again, hearts racing, breathing audible.

And then Dave unbuttoned his Scotch plaid chamois shirt.

And Rhonda stripped off her green NMCC Falcons sweatshirt.