“Ah ha!” I poked his shoulder gently. “There it is. You’re a book person. That’s probably because your mother was a librarian.”

“Yeah, she likely had an influence…” Duane squirmed a little in his seat, his eyebrows tugging low over his eyes like he was deep in thought. “I reckon most people look at us Winston boys and see a bunch of hillbillies, sons of Darrell Winston, con man and criminal. In some ways, I guess we are. We like our cars, barbeque, and banjo music. But our momma wanted more for us. She demanded it. Momma basically put each of us through a kind of finishing school.”

“How’d she manage that?”

“Books. Lots of books. At least one a week to expand our vocabulary and our minds. The classics were required reading. Plus table manners—all manners—were taken very seriously. Words like ain’t, which isn’t a word, weren’t allowed in the house, though we’ve all grown lazy with proper grammar as we’ve grown older. She also taught us how to dance.”

“Dance? She taught you to dance?”

“Yep.”

“Like, what? Like the waltz?”

He nodded faintly, clearly lost in a memory of his mother. I didn’t interrupt. Instead I admired his profile, feeling the depths to which I’d missed him. I’d missed him so much. For the first time in a week I felt like I could draw a complete breath. I knew I was falling hard and fast, but I didn’t care. We had just over a year and I planned to abandon myself to it, to him. I was completely and totally all in.

At length Duane shook his head like he was coming out of a trance and added, “But really, I think I’d prefer to be out there myself. Living, doing, seeing for myself.”

I was nodding before he finished his thought. “Yes, exactly. That’s exactly how I feel. I actually get frustrated sometimes when I read travel blogs or magazines. It’s like, I want to be the one out there doing it, not reading about someone else’s experience.”

Duane nodded at my words like he truly understood my perspective; but then he surprised me by asking, “So then, what have you done?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how have you lived? What have you done? And that crazy stuff you did while we were kids doesn’t count.”

Now I squirmed a bit in my seat. Duane shifted like he was about to remove his hand, so I covered it with mine, pressed it to my knee.

Eventually I admitted the sad truth. “I’ve done a lot of planning, getting ready. But honestly, nothing exciting so far.” I added with a sad sigh, “No big trips or adventures.”

His eyes were on the road, but how he’d slightly inclined his head toward me and stroked his thumb over my kneecap told me he was thinking about my response. His thoughtful expression transitioned into a frown.

“You don’t need a big trip to have an adventure. There’s plenty of adventures to be had right here.”

I tsked. “You know what I mean.”

“I guess I do…and I guess I don’t. I’m just saying, if you can’t have an adventure where you are, what makes you think you’ll have an adventure anywhere else?”

I felt the answer was obvious; nevertheless I said, “Because it’ll be someplace new. I’ve already done and seen everything there is to do and see here.”

“Well, enlighten me then. What adventures are there to be had in Green Valley, Tennessee?”

I assumed his question was meant to be ironic, so I laughed and responded, “None.”

“Wrong.”

I scoffed. “No. Not wrong. We have three restaurants, three bars, Cooper’s Field, and the jam session on Friday nights. Therein lies the sum total of what Green Valley has to offer.”

“Wrong,” he repeated, but this time the corner of his mouth tugged upward like he was fighting a smile.

“Oh really? What am I missing then?”

“Hiking, fishing, canoeing, camping.”

“Come on, Duane. We hiked and explored all through these mountains when we were kids. You said kid stuff doesn’t count.”

He hesitated for a minute, then said, “Bungee jumping.”

I nearly choked. “Bungee jumping? You’ve been bungee jumping?”

“Yes. And sky diving.”

“Holy crap! When, where?”

“I’ll take you.”

My chest constricted with a healthy dose of fear, and my immediate response was to shake my head. “No. No thank you. I think I’ll pass.”

“You said you wanted adventure.”

“Adventure isn’t the same thing as trying to kill yourself.”

Now he laughed. “It’s not that dangerous.”

“Says the Dare Devil, Duane Winston.”

“So, you’re telling me that when you leave and go on your wanderlust walkabouts, you’re planning on having only nice, quiet safe adventures?” He made a face, like he was disappointed in me. “That’s not living. That’s just more time spent planning.”

Again I squirmed in my seat and grumbled, “No.”

“Yes,” he countered.

Mild irritation made my chest and cheeks hot, and I glared at him. “Just because I don’t wish to throw myself out of a plane and plummet to the earth doesn’t mean my adventures will be boring.”

“You don’t have to throw yourself out of a plane, because I’ll be there to push you.” With this he glanced at me, grinning like a devil, and winked.

My mouth fell open and a small, strangled sound of disbelief emerged from my throat. But then I laughed through my outrage, because his expression was both adorably and thrillingly mischievous. Soon he was laughing too, likely at my stunned and annoyed expression.

While laughing, I reached over and squeezed his leg. “Well, I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”

He caught my hand. “It would be no burden at all. I’m happy to offer my services any time you need to be tossed out of a plane.”

“Or off a bridge?”

“Or a dock.”

“Or a boat.”

“Yes. Even a boat. I’ll be happy to push you any time pushing is required.” As he said these words we came to a stoplight and he turned just his head, giving me a happy smile and squeezing my hand. His smile was dazzling, and I felt my own lips curve into a wide grin.

Goodness, I loved it when he smiled, like he was doing now. I felt like finally, finally I was seeing the real Duane Winston, the one he only shared with a rare and worthy few. And I fell a bit more. I enjoyed this feeling of falling, the thrill and certainty of it, of his worthiness.

“I feel I must reciprocate,” I said quietly, losing myself in his closeness, the genuine warmth and affection clear in his handsome face. “Please let me know if I can ever be of service pushing you in a similar fashion.”

I watched him take a deep breath, his gaze moving over my features—still warm with affection—and he said in a near whisper, “My momma once told me, you don’t need to be pushed in order to fall. I don’t think you’ll need to do much pushing, Jessica.”

***

It took us about another hour to reach our destination, during which we fell into easy conversation. He told me tales about crazy customers, and I had to guess whether they were true or false. The most outrageous stories turned out to be true, thereby shaking my faith in humanity and reminding me that fifty percent of the population fell beneath one hundred on the IQ curve.

Before I knew it, time was up and we’d arrived. I squinted out the windshield and realized where we were.

“The Canyon? You brought me to watch the dirt races?” I was not complaining, not at all. I was merely surprised, and maybe a little nervous.

Duane nodded as he pulled into a space toward the front. It was conspicuously empty, like it was his spot though I couldn’t see a marker that marked it as such.

He popped his door open as he cut the engine. “Yes. We can watch the races, but there’s good food, too. And we can talk in between. Just stay close, things can get crazy.”

He came around the car and reached for my door just as I opened it, offering his hand. I took his and he kept mine. Our fingers remained entwined as we walked toward the closest of three bonfires. I wasn’t usually much of a hand holder, but I liked his hands—the large, roughness of them—and I liked how the contact kept us close.