“You’re right. Fox certainly had to have his arm twisted to go out with such an ugly hag like yourself. I admit every time I look at you, I’m tempted to go: woof, woof, what a dog. Besides…Oh, I love this jacket! You have the best clothes. But this jacket is seriously awesome. Mmm.” Quinn stroked it like a cat. “Cashmere.”

“I don’t know why I packed it. I don’t know why I packed half the stuff I did. I just started grabbing things. And you’re trying to distract me.”

“Not really, but it’s a nice side benefit. What was I saying? Oh, yeah. Besides, it’s not a date. It’s a gang bang,” she said and made Layla laugh. “It’s just the four of us going to a bowling alley, for God’s sake, to hear some local band play and dance a little.”

“Sure. After which, you’ll be hanging a scarf over the doorknob of your bedroom. I went to college, Quinn. I had a roommate. Actually, I had a nympho of a roommate who had an endless supply of scarves.”

“Is it a problem?” Quinn stopped poking in the closet long enough to look over her shoulder. “Cal and me, across the hall?”

“No. No.” And now didn’t she feel stupid and petty? “I think it’s great. Really, I do. Anybody can tell the two of you rev like engines when you’re within three feet of each other.”

“They can?” Quinn turned all the way around now. “We do.”

“Vroom, vroom. He’s great, it’s great. I just feel…” Layla rolled her shoulders broadly. “In the way.”

“You’re not. I couldn’t stay here without you. I’m pretty steady, but I couldn’t stay in this house alone. The dance isn’t a big deal. We don’t have to go, but I think it’d be fun, for all of us. And a chance to do something absolutely normal to take our minds off everything that isn’t.”

“That’s a good point.”

“So get dressed. Put on something fun, maybe a little sexy, and let’s hit the Bowl-a-Rama.”

THE BAND, A LOCAL GROUP NAMED HOLLOWED Out, was into its first set. They were popular at weddings and corporate functions, and regularly booked at the center’s events because their playlist ran the gamut from old standards to hip-hop. The something-for-everybody kept the dance floor lively while those sitting one out could chat at one of the tables circling the room, sip drinks, or nibble from the light buffet set up along one of the side walls.

Cal figured it was one of the center’s most popular annual events for good reason. His mother headed up the decorating committee, so there were flowers and candles, red and white streamers, glittering red hearts. It gave people a chance to get a little dressed up in the dullness that was February, get out and socialize, hear some music, show off their moves if they had them. Or like Cy Hudson, even if they didn’t.

It was a little bright spot toward the end of a long winter, and they never failed to have a full house.

Cal danced with Essie to “Fly Me to the Moon.”

“Your mother was right to make you take those dance lessons.”

“I was humiliated among my peers,” Cal said. “But light on my feet.”

“Women tend to lose their heads over a good dancer.”

“A fact I’ve exploited whenever possible.” He smiled down at her. “You look so pretty, Gran.”

“I look dignified. Now, there was a day when I turned plenty of heads.”

“You still turn mine.”

“And you’re still the sweetest of my sweethearts. When are you going to bring that pretty writer to see me?”

“Soon, if that’s what you want.”

“It feels like time. I don’t know why. And speaking of-” She nodded toward the open double doors. “Those two turn heads.”

He looked. He noticed Layla, in that she was there. But his focus was all for Quinn. She’d wound that mass of blond hair up, a touch of elegance, and wore an open black jacket over some kind of lacey top-camisole, he remembered. They called them camisoles, and God bless whoever invented them.

Things glittered at her ears, at her wrists, but all he could think was she had the sexiest collarbone in the history of collarbones, and he couldn’t wait to get his mouth on it.

“You’re about to drool, Caleb.”

“What?” He blinked his attention back to Essie. “Oh. Jeez.”

“She does look a picture. You take me on back to my table now and go get her. Bring her and her friend around to say hello before I leave.”

By the time he got to them, Fox had already scooped them up to one of the portable bars and sprung for champagne. Quinn turned to Cal, glass in hand, and pitched her voice over the music. “This is great! The band’s hot, the bubbly’s cold, and the room looks like a love affair.”

“You were expecting a couple of toothless guys with a washboard and a jug, some hard cider, and a few plastic hearts.”

“No.” She laughed, jabbed him with her finger. “But something between that and this. It’s my first bowling alley dance, and I’m impressed. And look! Isn’t that His Honor, the mayor, getting down?”

“With his wife’s cousin, who is the choir director for the First Methodist Church.”

“Isn’t that your assistant, Fox?” Layla gestured to a table.

“Yeah. Fortunately, the guy she’s kissing is her husband.”

“They look completely in love.”

“Guess they are. I don’t know what I’m going to do without her. They’re moving to Minneapolis in a couple months. I wish they’d just take off for a few weeks in July instead of-” He caught himself. “No shop talk tonight. Do you want to scare up a table?”

“Perfect for people-watching,” Quinn agreed, then spun toward the band. “‘In the Mood’!”

“Signature piece for them. Do you swing?” Cal asked her.

“Damn right.” She glanced at him, considered. “Do you?”

“Let’s go see what you’ve got, Blondie.” He grabbed her hand, pulled her out to the dance floor.

Fox watched the spins and footwork. “I absolutely can’t do that.”

“Neither can I. Wow.” Layla’s eyes widened. “They’re really good.”

On the dance floor, Cal set Quinn up for a double spin, whipped her back. “Lessons?”

“Four years. You?”

“Three.” When the song ended and bled into a slow number, he fit Quinn’s body to his and blessed his mother. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me, too.” She nuzzled her cheek to his. “Everything feels good tonight. Sweet and shiny. And mmm,” she murmured when he led her into a stylish turn. “Sexy.” Tipping back her head, she smiled at him. “I’ve completely reversed my cynical take on Valentine’s Day. I now consider it the perfect holiday.”

He brushed his lips over hers. “After this dance, why don’t we sneak off to the storeroom upstairs and neck?”

“Why wait?”

With a laugh, he started to bring her close again. And froze.

The hearts bled. The glittery art board dripped, and splattered red on the dance floor, plopped on tables, slid down the hair and faces of people while they laughed, or chatted, strolled or swayed.

“Quinn.”

“I see it. Oh God.”

The vocalist continued to sing of love and longing as the red and silver balloons overhead popped like gunshots. And from them rained spiders.