“The truth?” he says. “I can’t see your face when you’re riding behind me. Or hold your hand.” He laces his fingers through mine. “Are you ready to go?”

“I’m ready,” I say. “I was planning to ask you in for a beer or glass of wine first, and then I remembered this is a dry county. How far is it to the nearest place to buy alcohol?”

“From here, it’s about thirty minutes if you go all the way across the North Carolina line, and at least that much time if you drive to another Georgia county.”

“Just for a bottle of wine? That seems crazy and way behind the times. What do people do if they want a drink?”

“They go on beer runs,” he answers with a laugh. “If you want alcohol, you grab a friend and go on a beer run. Want to go on one?”

“Not really. I’m not desperate for a drink. Are you saying that is the only way to get alcohol in this county?”

Besides buying it illegally from the Steel Infidels, of course.

Truthfully, I would kill for a decent glass of chardonnay. Being in a dry county sucks. Even if this is the Bible belt, banning all forms of alcohol is ridiculous.

“Yeah, it’s the only way,” he answers. “Don’t worry. The place we’re going to is ‘bring your own bottle,’ so I have a little something in the trunk of the car. We’ll take it in with us to dinner.”

“Wine?” I ask hopefully, then realize I’m being overly optimistic. “Or beer?”

I’m not crazy about beer. If there’s nothing else, I’ll drink it in an emergency.

“Tequila,” he answers with a straight face.

I burst out laughing. “Seriously?”

Only Sam would bring along a bottle of tequila to a first date. This should be interesting. I’m actually looking forward to tonight. Sam makes me laugh, and that’s something I haven’t done much of in a long time.

“What’s wrong with tequila?” he asks.

I can’t tell if he’s kidding or not.

“Not a thing,” I say. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

He opens the car door for me like a Southern gentleman and helps me tuck my dress inside before shutting the door. By now I’ve accepted the fact that he actually does have a few good manners.

So he is a good-mannered criminal. I don’t think that’s going to help him any in the eyes of the law.

After sliding behind the steering wheel, he turns the key in the ignition and reaches over to grab my hand again.

Is he really going to hold my hand the whole time while he drives?

It feels nice and I like it.

Steering with his left hand, he backs out of the driveway and pulls onto the road.