“CJ!” Shane’s face breaks into a delighted smile, and he bounds over to me and envelops me in a muscular hug that literally sweeps me off my feet. He puts me down and settles his arm on my shoulders.

“Hey.” I try for a sexy-hair swoosh, but my hair is stuck under his arm, so I end up doing a weird sort of half jerk.

“Oh—sorry!” He sweeps my hair over my left shoulder, then carefully replaces his arm. “Better?” I nod, and melt a little inside. He gives me a small, private smile and whispers, “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been waiting for you forever.”

I’m just a pile of mush right now. I don’t even know how I’m standing upright.

“All right, my dudes,” Shane announces to the patio, “I’m out.” After a couple of sloppy fist bumps, he tucks me under his arm again and says, “Too many people down here. Wanna go upstairs?”

What—no gazebo? Oh well. It’s probably wet from yesterday’s rain, anyway. I swallow my disappointment and say, “Okay.”

We make our way over to the stairs. Shane stumbles once about halfway up, and for a moment his arm seems to be hanging on to me for support more than pulling me close to him.

“You okay?” I ask. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.

“I think I might be a little drunk,” he whispers in my ear. He smiles at me adoringly and adds, “You saved me from breaking my neck. You’re my guardian angel.” His gaze lingers on my face as he strokes my cheek with the back of his fingers, and I think maybe this is an okay idea after all. Shane steadies himself before pushing the hair out of his eyes and squinting up the stairs. Then he squares his massive shoulders, points up with renewed purpose, and declares, “Arright. Onward.” I feel like I’m on the arm of a very drunk, very polite Viking, which is . . . good? Bad? I’m having to recalibrate my expectations so quickly, I can’t keep track anymore.

We make it into the front hall without further incident and hang a left into the living room with the window overlooking the valley. He guides me to the right, past Sad Drunk Girl and her sophomore posse on the sofa, into a little alcove tucked away in the corner. It’s sort of the opposite of a window seat, with a bench piled high with cushions, and it’s lined with bookshelves—a reading nook.

Shane presents the cushioned seats with a sloppy bow, which reminds me of Owen. I shut that thought right down.

We sit down, and I snuggle in next to him. “Comfortable?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Oh yeah.