The engine idled with a rhythmic hum.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Tearing himself from the map app, he sucked his cheeks and turned. “I’ve never been.”

She released the belt, tucked one knee under her body, and reeled. “How is that even possible?”

He jabbed the max AC button with his thumb. “By some cruel quirk of fate, I’ve never been to Benton’s Grove. Commence pity party this instant.”

Struggling to hold back a smile, she held up both hands. “Hey, I just didn’t think you could grow up in Green Ridge and not go to Benton’s at least once.” She interlaced her fingers behind his neck and planted a soft kiss on his mouth.

“If I had you around,” he murmured into her lips, “I would have gone years ago.”

“You have me now,” she murmured back and tossed a hot pink, beribboned package into the back seat.

“What did we get him?”

“A book that turns into a robot—”

“Excellent.”

“—and comes to life when you put in a battery.” She lifted her palms in a raise-the-roof dance.

He gave a fist pump. “Darling, you’re a genius.”

Several days before the party, she volunteered to buy Sam a joint present—a gesture that dipped a toe into the waters of coupledom. He accepted her texted offer readily, but his delight at her selection was a tremendous relief. Beaming, she refastened her seatbelt. “I’m so glad you approve.”

“Oh, I more than approve.” With one hand on her headrest, he leaned into her seat and kissed her again, nibbling her upper lip before pulling away. Placing the other hand on her knee, he trailed his fingers partway up her thigh. “I’m so far beyond approving…I’m in full thrall.”

While appropriate, his touch danced on the cliff edge of intimacy. Her stomach did an Olympic-quality triple Lutz. “Thrall? Sounds itchy. Do you have a cream for that in your first aid kit?”

Chortling, he flipped down his visor. “I’ll check. Now, tell me how to get to this place, or we’ll never leave your driveway.”

Frigid air poured from the vents, wafting the aroma of leather and sunscreen. She ran her gaze over his profile. He was atypically dressed down in sunglasses, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap, but still, he managed to look totally put together. The fact this guy wanted to go anywhere with her was a miracle.

Come to think of it, when was the last time she visited Benton’s? Several years ago, at least. But the beauty of Benton’s rested in the fact that, like the Farmers’ Market, it never, ever changed. Somehow, time let Benton’s off with a pass. An old-fashioned picnic park comprised more of trees than cement, it truly merited the moniker, “grove.”