Candy and Rex barked and cried out their delight. They leaped and pulled, drawing their owners side by side.

“Well, hello, Mr. Cox,” Allison said, hoping he didn’t hear the quiver in her voice.

“Mrs. Miller.” He nodded, and his bedroom eyes and white teeth caught the light of the streetlamp. “I was thinking I might die if I didn’t see you again soon.”

And there, alone together on a cold, dark Christmas night, their lips met and their bodies glommed to each other, their kiss more passionate and wild than even their episode in the parking lot might have predicted, a kiss that rapidly became more than a kiss: his hand that wasn’t holding the leash yanking down the zipper of her coat, then diving under her sweater, her free hand leaping for buttons and zippers in turn, his teeth biting her lips, her teeth biting back. They were a head-on collision on the highway, an accident too late for brakes.

Allison was the first to surface. She looked around the green desperately. Anyone might see them! Anyone might report the sighting on Lucy’s bulletin board! “We need to stop,” she whispered, starting up again.

“We need to go,” Nick said. He grabbed her hand, and led her and the dogs off the green and down the street. Allison let herself be led, the pompoms on her hat bouncing as she ran, Candy and Rex running, too, the cold air feeling colder for their speed, her hand warm in his. Where had her gloves gone? Who cared? Where were they going? They were just running. Like children. Running away.

They stopped in front of the Sawyers’ old house. It was dark and the moon was reflected in the windows.

She opened her mouth to ask why they were there, but she started kissing him before the words could come out. It was like the French fairy tale, the one in which frogs or toads came out of the girl’s mouth when she spoke. Except in her case, it was kisses: hungry, libidinous kisses.

He laughed, gently separating his mouth from hers. “Hold on, doll!”

Doll. Again. Sexist and so fucking sexy. Doll.

He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and opened the front door.

“What are we doing here?”

“You’ll see.” He let the dogs off their leashes and into the house, then leaned over—she thought to kiss her again—but he scooped her up in his arms, like a groom carrying a bride over the threshold. She laughed, her arms around his neck. Were they crazy? Were they so crazy they were breaking into houses?

He carried her up the small flight of stairs and into a bedroom. She’d never been farther than the Sawyers’ powder room. What was he thinking? What was she thinking? She wasn’t thinking. She didn’t want to think. He set her down and lay his long black coat on the floor. Then they suctioned to each other again, shedding clothes, shedding all sense, easing their way down to the ground.