Was he as poleaxed as her behind that inscrutable expression? Was his body still thrumming with the out-of-control mix of heat and happy hormones despite the return of his surly facade?

He glanced at her hand. “You’re not in New York, Dorothy. We’re in bumfuck Egypt. Nobody locks their doors.”

“Oh…right…” She glanced at her wine, at the pasta, at the turtle tank, at the door. Anywhere but Grady and his thoroughly kissed mouth. “I guess I’ll be going.” He didn’t say anything, just stood there, his gaze intense. Putting on her big-girl panties, she lifted her gaze to meet his, forcing herself to smile and act normal. “Thanks again. For doing this.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

…

“Okay…let me get this straight,” Winona said, her warm breath misting into the cold air inside Ethel because the van’s heating was on the fritz. She was bundled up in her winter coat, scarf, gloves, and hat, as was Suzanne. “We’re going to Denver to buy up the tackiest, most over-the-top Christmas stuff possible and then decorating Grady’s place with it so your parents, whose marriage is on the rocks and are arriving the day after tomorrow, think you’re in a relationship with a cowboy from Credence.”

“In a nutshell.”

“And I thought I had an active imagination.” Winona shook her head. “I couldn’t make this shit up.”

“It’s bad, right?” Suzanne glanced briefly across to her friend. “I’m going to hell.”

“In the grand scheme of things that get you into hell, lying to your parents and bribing Grady are probably low down on the scale.”

“Right?” Her friend’s statement was buoying. “I mean, I’m not selling cigarettes to kids in the third world or jacking up the price of a lifesaving drug by five thousand percent overnight.”

“Exactly.”

Which didn’t actually make Suzanne feel better. Lying and bribery were still shitty things to do.

“Stop at the next gas station; I’ll get us coffee so we don’t turn into Popsicles.”

It was a lousy day for Ethel’s ancient heating system to become recalcitrant. Suzanne knew she should just buy a new van—she could afford it—but Ethel had been with her from the beginning, from her very first commission. And paint stains and the reek of thinners really ruined that new-car magic.

Still, heat would be nice.

They stopped twice along the way before Suzanne pulled Ethel into the parking lot of a Christmas shop on the outskirts of Denver she’d found when Googling last night, because there wasn’t enough tinsel and garland in Credence for Suzanne’s needs. Hell, there wasn’t enough in all of eastern Colorado. She’d made a comprehensive list of all the things she’d needed to turn the house into Santa’s grotto, and she ticked through them mentally now.

It was that or think about the kiss—again.

So the guy could kiss. That should hardly be surprising, given how competently he did everything else in his life. Except competently wasn’t the right word. Competently was thoroughly inadequate. Masterfully was much better. For a kiss that had started out like Grady hadn’t ever graduated from the kissing-your-forearm school of tutoring, he had owned her by the time he’d pulled away.