“Yup. You can climb back and look around if you want.”

His brows rose. “May I?”

The request oozed breathless anticipation. He was like a teenager taking his first ride in a sports car. “Go ahead. You’ll rarely see another van like it—only a few are still on the road.”

Grazing her shoulder with his chest, he squeezed between the bucket seats.

The scents of hay and sawdust lingered. She blinked back a dizzying wave and caught him in the rearview mirror. Planted on the back seat, he spread his feet and surveyed the van with wide-eyed wonder. She adjusted the mirror for a better view. “I like all the cabinets and drawers tucked everywhere.”

He tugged the handle of a door nestled beneath the countertop. It didn’t budge.

“How do the doors…uh?”

“Open? See the buttons in the handles? They’re latches that secure everything when the car is moving. Just press the button and pull. Feel free to open any of them. I don’t think much is inside.”

With a click, a shallow drawer slid open. “Look at that.” He pressed the button repeatedly, examining the latch mechanism. “Wonderful.”

His delight in the ingenious engineering was a refreshing breeze on the back of her neck. She refocused on the road, determined to avoid a traffic accident while dying to watch him discover every hidden delight the camper concealed. “See how that countertop fastens with a vinyl strap and a snap? A sink and a propane cooktop are underneath. My mother made three-course meals on that stove. No water’s in the sink now, of course, but it runs when the tank’s full.”

The metal snap popped open beneath his fingers. “Running water.”

“Below that panel of electrical switches on your left is a built-in refrigerator.” She heard the counter thud closed and the refrigerator open. “The fridge is pretty impractical actually. It has no drainage, so my mom always had to bail it out when stuff leaked or condensed or whatever.”

“Where do you sleep?” he asked.

The pot of geraniums in front of the quilt shop waved hello in a flash of pink and green. “That back seat opens into a bed. It’s handy, actually, because we can unfold it to haul big loads. Your lumber should fit fine. And—you’ll love this—the roof pops open into a tent.”

He gaped into the rearview mirror, tawny brows disappearing under his hat brim.

She laughed. “They actually call these vans ‘pop-tops.’ See that metal bar up top? When you unlatch the roof and push the bar, the ceiling lifts up on a diagonal, and a mattress folds out. Canvas walls are tucked into the sides, and they open like a tent…it’s kind of hard to describe. Maybe I’ll show you sometime.”

He ran a hand along the bar. “Pop-tops.” Lifting from the seat, he examined the hinge. “It’s really very practical.”