I was itching to shoot off twenty different questions to Reese—not because I was feeling uncomfortable, but because I wanted to see his responses. But I refrained, until after another beer.

Raising Grant’s beer, I finished it. “That is one thing about your fiancée, though. She’s not that perfect.”

He harrumphed. “Says you.”

I held the now-empty can out. “Her margaritas are too sugary. I need more beer.”

A laugh, then he stood with me. Taking the can, he nodded. “Then beer you will have. Come on.” He led the way. “We’re off for a refill. I need one myself.”

More than two hours later, after three more beers—don’t judge me—and one slice of pizza then I finally sent off another round of questions. I had thought long and hard about them—and by that, I mean I gave it no thought.

Me: Octopus or bear?

Me: Why do people have to have the last word? What’s the point?

Me: Why can’t people vacation in their own homes? That’s where all your stuff is.

Me: When global warming melts all the snow, will Antarctica have to change its name?

Me: Was I wrong for cheering in Aquaman when they tossed the trash back on the land?

Me: Stupidest advice you’ve ever gotten?

Me: What constitutes being nosy versus probing?

Me: Why do we call it a refrigerator and not a food-cooler?

Buzz.

Reese: Stop. Jesus, woman.

I giggled. Normally, I hated giggling, but in this instance, that’s what it was. I’d just gotten back to his cabin, and I was curled up on the couch, my phone in hand and what I could only imagine looked like an unhinged smile on my face.

I was buzzed, gloriously—a let’s-forget-reality kind of buzzed. It was the bestest.

The phone rang instead, and I hit accept. “When people work the midnight shift, are they nooners instead of a morning or night person?”

“Fuck’s sakes. I’m tired, woman. Stop. Turn the brain off.”

“Reese,” I whispered. More laughter. A hiccup now.

“What?” But he knew. I could hear his smile. “Ah. You’re buzzed.”

“I am. Did you use a one-use girl tonight?”

“Who is that?” a voice asked from where he was.

“Sorry,” he said to them. “It’s a chick. Hold on.” He was moving around. I heard a bunch of static sounds until a door closed, and his voice came back, dropping low, “Give me a second. I’m actually going to the lobby to have a conversation with you.”

“I’m a chick? Why not ducklings? Little ducks? Too close to little dicks?”

He barked out a laugh, then smothered it. “Chill. Give me a second to regroup.”

A ding.

“Are you on the elevator?”

“I am, and yes, there are people here.” He said to them, “Nice night, huh?”