“Luke threw a blanket he’d taken from his truck over a grassy section, lowering himself while she stayed standing. Well, not exactly standing. More like revolving—her arms extended as she did a three-sixty turn.
“Are you communing with the universe?” he asked.
She smiled, but her eyes stayed closed. “My grandmother believed the wind blows beauty on a person.”
“Then you must have been born in a hurricane.”
Laughing lightly, she joined him on the blanket. “You’re sweet.”
“I’m honest. You’re freaking gorgeous.”
“You’re not bad yourself, McBain.”
He unpacked their Super Min-bought lunch. “So tell me more about your Grandma Good Egg,” he said. “Did she do spells?”
She smiled. “Good Bear. And no, she didn’t do spells.”
He munched on a chip, then opened his water.
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