“Yes. No.” I shake my head. “Of course I don’t want to go. It was— Never mind. This morning, before we left, Dad gave me the night off.” I shrug. “It was just something to do.”

Logan frowns. “But you hate to dance.”

“Yup. No moves.” I shuffle like a robot. “Forget I mentioned it.” If only the floor would open up and swallow me whole. Freshman year I told Logan that I didn’t dance, but that’s because she thought Kerrianne wanted me to ask her to homecoming. Not in a million years. There’s only been one girl I’ve ever wanted to dance with, and that’s Logan. “I should really be home anyway. With the wedding guests, there will be plenty of things for me to do around the inn.”

“Oh no. Definitely not. You’re taking the night off, with me, and that’s final. And since we want to have fun, that rules out dancing.” She smiles.

“No dancing. Got it. We can see what’s playing at the Riviere Marquee?”

“A movie is boring and ordinary.”

“What else is there to do in Riviere?”

“Leave it to me.” She sets her hands on my shoulders and gives me a shake. “I can’t believe it. You have a Friday night off! Why didn’t you tell me? We should throw a party, except I hate parties with people. What to do? Cade Crawford has the night off. How did this happen? Tell me everything. What did your dad say?”

I’m not going to tell Logan what he really said, which was that I should ask Logan to the dance. “We’re just friends,” I’d responded. To which he’d said, “Nothing wrong with going with a friend. Your mom and I were friends.”

Inwardly, I groan. I look at Logan. She’s waiting for an answer. “There’s not much to tell. He said I’ve worked hard and deserve a night off from the inn.”

She slaps a hand over the slow-dancing couple and places the other over her heart. “I, Logan March, solemnly promise to arrange an unforgettable, amazing night filled with adventure that doesn’t involve dancing. It’ll be a night we’ll remember years from now, like the kind some old people get nostalgic about when they long for the wild times they had in high school.” She beams at me.

I raise an eyebrow. “Have I mentioned that getting arrested is not my idea of fun?”

She winks. “Duly noted.” Her gaze shifts to the wall clock, then toward the main stairwell leading to the first floor. With a huff, she asks, “Where is Mr. Bartley?”

“Maybe the snow delayed him. We could come back at lunch?”

“But there will be dozens of students in his room.” She goes back to pacing.