For a second I thought he was serious. He sounded so serious. So I stopped talking and listened to the words . . . that I couldn’t understand.

He gave a breathy laugh and I hit his chest, narrowing my eyes at him.

He continued to sway us and started singing quietly in English as though he were translating it for me. “Her stare can crash cars, fall trees, break hearts.”

I tried to hold my narrow eyes, but I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Her laugh can crash cars, fall trees . . .” He leaned in close, his lips next to my ear. “Break hearts.”

I closed my eyes, tingles spreading down my spine as his breath touched my neck. Then my stomach growled loudly and he said, just as softly, “You think you could eat half a pie?”

I pulled back. “What?”

He released me from his arms. “Half a pie. Do you want to eat one?”

“Like a pizza or the fruit variety?”

“Are we from New York? Of course I mean a pie as in apple or pumpkin or berry.”

“Do they still refer to pizzas as pies in New York or is that only in the movies?”

“I don’t know, but this is a competition, Moore. Can you eat half a pie or can’t you?”

“I can eat it faster than you, that’s for sure.”

“That’s what I thought. I’m going to take you—well, have you take me—to the best place for pie that exists in this town at eleven o’clock at night. You can only get to it by car, so it completely goes with the theme of your night.”

“Okay, Holt. Let’s go have a competition.”

“Denny’s?” I asked, staring at the sign.

“It’s eleven o’clock at night. What did you expect, my grandma’s kitchen?”

“I expected a secret location.”

“Well, in twelve hours I can take you to a secret pie location, but this is the best I have right now.”

We got out of the truck and walked to the glowing building. “Do you really know a secret pie location?”

“No, but I love that you thought I did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You totally did.”

The apple pie was at our table in ten minutes as most pies that have probably been sitting in the freezer for a couple days can be. Jackson cut the pie in half, being careful to measure it just right, then scooped one section onto his plate and another onto mine.

“That’s a lot of pie.”

“Are you already giving up?”

My stomach rumbled, and he laughed.

“Is it a timed event or are we just seeing who can eat the most?” I asked.

“Of course it’s a timed event. Can you call something an event if it isn’t timed?” He picked up his fork.

“Oh, we get to use utensils?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t want to use utensils?”