Marcus immediately lowers his head.

“Well, we’re 2 and 4, but I think we’re still all trying to get used to playin’ with each other, you know? We’ve got a bunch of these newbies, and Jorgen over here up and left us.”

He stops then and puts a finger to his chin.

“Hell,” Marcus goes on, “I think Jorgen has been here the two times we’ve actually won this season.”

He raises an eyebrow at me.

“Maybe you could convince him to get back here for our next game,” he says, sending me a wink.

I laugh and find Jorgen’s stare, already on me.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I say.

Jorgen smiles at me and then turns his attention to Marcus. “So, what are you up to?”

“Oh, I’ve got a tree that was hit by lightning a while back. I’m finally gettin’ around to cuttin’ it down, and I’m borrowin’ your dad’s chainsaw.”

“Aah,” Jorgen says, rocking back on his heels and catching my gaze again.

“So, you guys going to the fair tonight?”

I hear Marcus’s voice, but everything else about me is stuck on Jorgen’s stare.

“Yeah,” Jorgen eventually says, making sure to keep his eyes on mine. “We’re headed out there now.”

“Okay,” I hear Marcus say in the background. “I’ll see you out there then.”

I press my lips together and finally lower my eyes. He’s killing me. He has to know that with those eyes and that forever crooked smile of his, he’s irresistible. Any other guy, I don’t think I’d be here right now. In fact, I know I wouldn’t be here right now. It took him to get me here.

I look up and catch his awaiting smile. God, he’s beautiful.

“You ready?”

I think it takes me a second, but I eventually force myself out of my trance.

“Hmm?”

“To go?” he asks.

“Oh. Yeah,” I say, nodding my head.

“I’ll just have to get the keys to my dad’s truck. I’m not quite sure Ol’ Red will make it into town.”

I laugh softly, as my eyes suddenly get stuck on something in the corner.

“What about that?”

I point to a motorcycle in the back of the garage and watch Jorgen’s eyes follow my gesture to the bike.

“Oh that?” he asks.

I nod my head.

“That’s my old Harley. I bought that before I even got my license and fixed it up. It runs pretty well.”

He stops and shoots me a sideways smirk.

“Do…you…want to take that?” he asks, timidly.

I think about it for a split second. Then, before I have the chance to change my mind, I nod my head.

“But you’re in a dress.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Well, technically, it’s a skirt, but I’ll make do.”

I watch his smile carve a wide path across his face.

“All right, let’s go,” he says.

He disappears into the garage for a second and comes back out with two old, black helmets. My heart jumps at the helmets’ color.

“Come on,” he says.

I slowly follow him over to the bike. There’s a part of me that can’t believe what I’m about to do, and then there’s another part of me that just can’t wait to feel the wind on my bare arms and legs again.

I watch Jorgen swing one leg over the bike and straddle it. Then, he turns and pats a part of the black leather seat behind him. I try to move, but I’m frozen. I just can’t seem to pick up my foot and take the first step.

“Come on,” he says again, smiling and waving me closer toward him.

I suck in a big breath. My heart is racing now. I can feel its thuds hitting hard against the wall of my chest. I even feel as if I can hear its beats. But Jorgen’s eyes are comforting somehow in a weird way. I haven’t figured out why yet. Maybe blue is just a comforting color. I try to pick up my foot again, and this time, it moves. And before I know it, I’m swinging my leg over the bike and resting a foot on each peg. I take a second then and let it sink in that I’m on the bike — that I’m on a bike for the first time since… I stop the thought, close my eyes and let the breath I’ve held hostage in my lungs for the last minute slowly escape my lips.

“Helmet,” he says, handing it to me.

I take it and carefully squeeze it over my head before he twists around and takes the straps underneath my chin and snaps them together.

“It fit okay?”

I nod my head. The big helmet nods with me.

“Good,” he says. “First time you’ve ever been on a bike?”

I will my heart not to drop to the bottom of my stomach.

“A Harley…yes,” I manage to say.

“Okay, you should probably hold on,” he says, smirking back at me.

I wrap my arms around his midsection, somewhere between his waist and his chest. I purposefully lay my hands flat against his body so that I can feel every muscle.

“You ready?”

I think about his question, but clearly, not long enough because the next thing I know, my head is nodding yes—even though I’m not so sure if I’ll ever truly be ready for this.

“All right,” I hear him say. “Nice and tight.”

I squeeze him tighter and then hear the puttering start of the engine. A few moments later, I feel the force pushing me backwards and the loose gravel on the driveway giving way under the tires. But then, I also feel the wind hit my arms and legs, and I close my eyes. There’s adrenaline, and there’s fear, but mostly, I just feel the wind. I feel the parts warmed by the sun and those pockets cooled by the shade. Every breath of summer air brushes over me, dancing and swirling, and ultimately, carving new memories deep into the pores of my skin.

“There are three things that you have to do at a county fair,” Jorgen says, flashing me his now famous crooked smile.

“And what are those three things?” I ask.

He holds out one finger. “Number one. You must get a funnel cake.”

“Dessert?” I ask.

“Dessert,” he confirms.

We stop at a food-truck-looking thing with an opening on one side and a big whiteboard on the other. On the whiteboard, there’s a list of fruits and sweets scribbled down two columns.

“You’ve had a funnel cake before, right?”

I purse my lips in deep thought. And eventually, I shake my head.

“No?” he asks.

He looks so shocked or offended — I don’t know which — that it makes me laugh.

“Isn’t it just a bunch of fried dough or something? I’ve had a doughnut before.”

“No, no, no, sweetie,” he says, as if adding the term of endearment takes away the horror in his voice. “Doughnuts and funnel cakes are not the same.”

He asks the woman in the truck for a plain cake with extra powdered sugar.

“Your first one has to be plain,” he explains. “And when you graduate from that, we can start adding the toppings. But if you ask me, I think plain’s the best anyway.”

I give him my best apprehensive look. He just smiles and eventually takes a paper plate from the woman. Then, he pulls off a piece of the cake and holds it up to my lips.

I hesitate but then open my mouth. And after chewing the piece of cake a few seconds, I look up and meet his awaiting stare.

“It’s good,” I say. “It’s actually really good.” I swallow and then shake my head. “It’s not really like a doughnut at all.”

“See, what did I tell ya?”

I pull off another big piece. “What are the other two things?” I ask, taking a bite.

He clears his throat as if preparing to reveal a well-kept secret.

“Ride at least one ride,” he says, proudly. “And pet a sheep.”

I stop chewing and fix my eyes on his. “What?”

He only shrugs his shoulders and nods his head.

“Pet a sheep?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s fun. Oh, and you’ve got to go to the tractor pull. That’s the last thing.”

“But wait, that’s four things,” I say.

He grabs my hips and playfully pulls my side closer to his as we start walking.

“I could have sworn you were a writer, but now I’m starting to believe you actually might be an undercover mathematician.” He narrows one eye at me. “I thought I knew you, Ada Cross.” His last words are raspy, and surprisingly, really seductive.