I rack my brain for something to say to her that’ll make her feel better, but I’m not sure it’s words I’m looking for. So I back away from her and she doesn’t look at me, her eyes fixed ahead. When I reach the car, I open the door and lean inside to get the iPod. Then I shuffle through the songs until I stumble onto one of the slower, softer classics and then I crank up the volume and hike down toward her again.

She looks over her shoulder at me as the music floods the forest around us. I stick out my hand, letting her know what I want to do, because we’ve done it before and I’m sure we’ll do it again. She stares at my hand undecidedly before she guardedly moves over to me, her expression impartial.

“You’re such an old man with your music sometimes,” she says, stopping just out of my reach, her arms still folded over her chest.

I keep my hand extended to her and force a grin, even though I’m a little nervous. “Hey, ‘Girl from the North Country’ is a classic. And it’s got Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan.”

“It’s old-man music.” Her tone is tinged with humor. “Because inside, you’re an old man.”

“Then that would make you an old lady for hanging out with me.”

She rolls her tongue, restraining a smile. I grab hold of her hand and jerk on her arm, tugging her against me and her laughter slips through. The sound breaks the tension between us and I know I’m off the hook for now.

I twirl her around a few times and she laughs even harder, her hair falling in her face as she stumbles to keep up with me. I continue to twirl her until I know she’s dizzy, like when we were kids and we’d hang out in my backyard, spinning in circles.

“Micha, please stop,” she begs, laughing and stumbling over her feet. “I can’t see straight.”

I stop and she crashes against me. She clutches on to my shoulders, holding on to me for support as I slip my arms around her and rock us to the rhythm, supporting her weight. My palm makes a path down her back, stopping when I near her ass, knowing I can’t push things any further, at least not tonight.

She relaxes her head against my chest and I breathe in the vanilla scent of her hair. “You’re too nice to me sometimes,” she says. “In fact, you spoil me. You should really stop.”