“Since grade school,” he said. “My mom owns a dance studio.”

“Whoa.” He and Charlotte had been practicing and performing together almost their whole lives. And it showed.

I don’t know why, but in my head, this dancing hobby of theirs had been one thing. A somewhat corny, old-school, kitschy, niche thing. Like square dance or polka. Something seniors did on the weekends. Not a pop-up, in-your-face, socially accepted metaphor for sex.

“I was starting to think you weren’t going to come tonight,” he said.

“How could I miss it?” I asked, because with Charlotte watching from wherever she was while Lucas swayed me, I could now assume they weren’t together. Though it remained a mystery why she still seemed to despise me.

“Because you’ve got a lot going on,” he said. “Helping your dad with the house. Keeping watch over Charlie. The house itself.”

A small smile curled my lips, and new warmth spread through me, because it suddenly occurred to me that Lucas must have been watching the door for me since the start of this thing, scanning the crowd for my face, and holding on to the hope that I would make it here tonight. Not just the barn and the party but here, meaning his arms.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said. “Truth be told, I can’t stop worrying about you, either.”

Turning my head, I let my eyes fall shut as I pressed my cheek to his chest.

“Your friend,” I said, relishing in the feel of his silk tie against my skin, the underlying heat of him, and the steady thump of his heart. “Please tell me you heard from him.”

“It’s getting worse,” he guessed, his tone dropping, anxiety squeezing his voice.

Scowling to have my bliss obliterated just before it could fully be born, I opened my eyes again. I frowned and blinked, though, distracted by a glimpse of Charlotte in the crowd.

Hold up. Was she dancing with . . . Wes?

“Rastin hasn’t gotten back to me yet, but I’m still hoping he will soon.”

Lucas’s words caused my head to snap forward. My eyes burrowed holes into his tie, which I now had the urge to yank so I could bring him down to my level.

“What did you just say?”

“It’s possible he hasn’t gotten my message,” Lucas said. “There wasn’t an email listed, so I sent it through the contact form on his website. He probably gets tons of messages. But I’m hoping he’ll respond to mine ASAP since I put Moldavia in all caps in the subject line.”

“Wait. You’re telling me you messaged Rastin? As in the moth-regurgitating wonder Rastin?”

“Y-yeah. Sorry. I-I probably should have told you that’s who I meant.”

Probably?

“You never said you knew him!”

“No,” Lucas said, “I—I don’t. I mean, I did meet him once at the Mid-South Paranormal Convention a couple of years ago. He signed my EMF detector . . .”

I dropped my arms from Lucas’s and took a step back. “You messaged a famous medium about my house.”