“Come on. The iconic lake lift.” He gestured again. “You know you want to.”

She grinned but quickly slammed her mouth shut like she was trying not to appear delighted by his idea. Too late. And more critically, she started moving again.

When she arrived, she raised her eyebrows incredulously. “We can’t do the Dirty Dancing lift.”

“On the contrary. We can do whatever we want.”

“But why? Why would we do this?”

“Why would we make snow angels in Central Park?” he countered. “Because it’s fun.”

“You are—”

He wanted to know what she’d been going to say before she cut herself off. “What?”

“All right,” she said, ignoring his question. “Let’s do it.” She smiled, a bright, unreserved one, and he loved seeing it, her mouth and eyes big. Happiness looked good on her.

He forced his eyes from her face and pondered the logistics of the task. He was going to have to grab her by the hips. Well, in for a pound . . . He stepped closer, bent his knees, and hovered his hands near her body but not touching it, under the surface of the water. “Okay?”

Still grinning from ear to ear, she nodded and put her hands on his shoulders.

Not wanting to grab her ass by accident, he rested his hands on her sides and slid them down and forward until he was cradling the points of her hips in his hands. Oof. The juxtaposition of soft flesh and pointy hip bones was really . . . something.

Her smile ignited into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” he teased, but he was laughing, too.

“This. You. Everything.”

He resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her. “Here we go.” He bent his knees and crouched to get some momentum, then launched her up into the air above his head—or tried to. He only got her about halfway up before he lost his balance.

“Ahhh!” She was shrieking and laughing at the same time as she came down, and it was contagious. He tried to break her fall and she tried to dive, and they ended up tangled together as they went under the water. He grabbed her, feeling bad about the sudden plunge, and she wound her arms around his neck as they resurfaced. She was sputtering but still laughing.

It was the summer version of Central Park. A stumble had turned into a hug. Except instead of wearing winter coats, they were skin to skin. Goosebumps rose, though he wasn’t cold. He pulled his hips away from her even as he kept hanging on to her upper body. He didn’t want her to feel his embarrassing erection. He felt like a teenager.

Except not, because he had never been this carefree as a teenager.

“Sorry,” he said through his laughter. “I’m no Patrick Swayze.”

“It took Baby and Johnny a few tries if I recall.” She said it as if issuing a dare.