Gwen took back her iPhone and the speaker, then stood and held out her hand. “Come by the fire, Greylen.”

He picked up the remaining bottles and followed her to the sitting area. Gwen placed the speaker on the hearth while Greylen sat on the floor, leaning against one of the chairs. She could tell he enjoyed the music she chose. She watched as he listened to the lyrics, obviously hearing tones and sounds he’d never been exposed to before. They had eight bottles of vodka left, and Gwen finished the last in her hand.

“Come on, catch up,” she prodded. “In fact, you’re bigger than me. Drink two.”

Her pout must have been infectious because he smiled before draining the one in his hand and then another. She sat in his lap, holding his free hand. “I’m scared, Greylen,” she whispered.

“I’ve told you, Gwen, I’ll always keep you safe.”

“But I need to keep you safe too.”

He didn’t seem to have a ready answer, other than to hold her. And strangely, the night turned pleasant. They remained by the fire, drinking and listening to music. Gwen excused herself for a moment before returning.

“Will you dance with me?” she asked, holding out her hand.

“Don’t you know?” he asked, shaking his head. “Anything, Gwendolyn, anything.”

He stood and opened the seventh bottle, drinking half before holding it to her lips. “Open, love,” he whispered, watching as it emptied in her mouth. He kissed her, only to stop a moment later. “What’s rock and roll?” he questioned in reference to the lyrics.

The Uncle Kracker version of “Drift Away” was playing now, one of her favorites. “It’s a type of music. I’m not sure if they were referring to getting lost in music literally, or if they meant it more metaphorically, like getting lost in the music of someone’s soul. I’d choose the latter, Greylen. I want to get lost in you.” She took his hands and showed him how to dance to the beat of her music.

They remained in front of the fire it seemed like forever. Gwen was having the time of her life, her worries forgotten as she enjoyed a night she had only dreamed of—dancing with her husband and listening to her favorite songs by a roaring fire. And the alcohol, well it was definitely beginning to impair her judgment.

“I must call for a guard,” Greylen said, shaking his head. He was watching her as she danced on the hearth to “You Sexy Thing” by Hot Chocolate. She bit her lip as he walked backward, obviously unwilling to take his eyes from her. Opening the door, he bellowed in demand. “Guards.” Not happy with the response, he called again, “GUARDS!”