Joy’s face fell. Her heart plummeted into her belly. He was right, and she was being unfair with him. But she couldn’t very well take off the ring now and risk someone lifting it from her bag while they swam. And she wasn’t going to let a two-carat rock ruin some fun in the sun. She eased off the lounge chair before she realized she was doing so, and walked to the pool edge, hands on hips. “If it wasn’t on, what would you do, Dylan Westfield?”

His mouth fell open and he stared at her. “Who the hell are you and what did you do with Joy?”

She’d left her in Stroud, in a dusty café parking lot crowded with minivans crammed with kids and Silverados towing camping trailers. Joy wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing other than having a good time for the first time in a long time. She also knew what she didn’t want to think about: how tranquil she’d felt after she woke from her nap, or of the ring that looked more dazzling than ever in the sunlight, or of Mark. She and Dylan had a pool to themselves and Dylan needed to lighten up. She cannonballed into the water and surfaced in front of him.

“You!” he sputtered, then smiled wickedly. It was the only warning Joy got. He grasped her waist and tossed her high. Joy shrieked, crashing into the deep end. She surfaced laughing and cussing, and ready for more.

It was several hours later when Joy slipped into a floaty, stylishly current sundress that reached midthigh, forgoing her vintage attire. Dylan had invited her along to his gig. She danced and sang through his performance, and she laughed, a lot. She didn’t think about Judy, and surprisingly, she didn’t dwell on where she’d left things off with Mark. In between sets, Dylan joined her at the bar for a beer. He draped an arm over her shoulders, and she lingered a little longer than necessary by his side. But then Dylan didn’t seem to be in a rush to remove his arm either.

Joy drove them back to the motel after midnight, and Dylan walked her to her room. He gently touched her cheek. “You haven’t stopped smiling all day. Looks good on you, Joy.”

Her smile broadened. It felt good on her.

They stood there looking at each other. Dylan seemed reluctant to leave, and she didn’t want to turn around and go into her room alone. But Mark’s ring was still on her finger.

“Thank you for today,” she whispered.

His fingers found her cheek, a butterfly caress, then his lips followed. “Good night, Joy.” He turned around and retreated to his room, and all Joy could think was how much she wanted to follow him.