“You’re shitting me. You’ve never been?”
“Nope. Not once.”
“But even as a kid? Your parents didn’t bring you here?”
“This isn’t exactly my parents’ kind of scene.”
“Why?”
“If you knew my parents, you’d understand.” Her words carried a sour note of bitterness, but it was the hint of sadness that rang loudest in his ears. He burned with the temptation to press for more information, but he let it drop as he pulled up to the valet stand.
“Hey,” he said gently because it seemed appropriate after what she’d just said and not said. “Can you grab the baseball hat and glasses case in the glove box?”
She opened the door once again and pulled out both. “Is this your disguise?”
“Yep.”
She laughed for the first time all night. “I was being sarcastic.”
“You want to avoid the crowd, right?”
“You could wear a ski mask and people in this town would still recognize you, Colton.”
“You’d be surprised.” He pulled the cap over his hair and donned the fake, black-rimmed glasses. He checked the rearview mirror and then grinned at her. “How do I look?”
“Ridiculous.” She was smiling when she said it, though, and his heart took off on a wild gallop. Gretchen could move mountains with that smile if she wanted to, and he was suddenly jealous of any other man who’d ever seen its brilliance.
He left the car running and got out as an attendant opened Gretchen’s door. Colton showed a screenshot of his receipt and waited as the valet scanned the barcode. “You’re all set, Mr. Wheeler.”
Gretchen draped the strap of her purse over her head to carry it crossbody. A slight shiver shook her arms as she waited for him to join her on the sidewalk.
“Cold?”
“Freezing,” she grumped, pulling a white wool hat from her bag.
“Let me.” He reached for it, and in what could only be a Christmas miracle, she didn’t argue. Colton tugged the hat over her hair and halfway down her forehead. She shivered again, but if the flash of heat in her eyes could be believed, it had nothing to do with the chill in the air and everything to do with the fact that just being near each other produced a hot blast of memory she couldn’t ignore any more than he could.
He held her gaze. “Better?”
She stepped back with a hard swallow. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Don’t sound so glum. This is going to be fun.”
“We have different definitions of fun.”
“And mine are starting to include aggravating you.”
She shot him a sardonic look. “Then you are going to have an absolute blast tonight.”
Damn. She could fire a comeback with the aim of a sharpshooter. She was right, though. Tonight was shaping up to be the most fun he’d had in a long time.
He let her lead the way, keeping a steady pace with her quick steps. She walked with the same determined gait as when she’d found him in the bar last night—rankled but resigned, as if she’d just been dared to go through a haunted house and would rather die than let her friends see how nervous she was. The rhythm of her stride reminded him of a drum corps leading the band onto the field. If he stopped walking, he doubted she would even notice.
“We aiming for a six-minute mile here, or what?”
“You have trouble keeping up?” She sounded winded.
“Just wondering what your hurry is.” He stretched his hand out to capture hers, tugging her back a step. “Slow down and smell the chestnuts.”
“Is that what smells? I thought it was you.”
He swung her around, pulled her flush against him, and slipped an arm around her waist. She fit against him even more perfectly than he remembered, and judging by the way her pupils dilated as she gazed up at him, her body remembered it too. He dipped his mouth close to her ear. “You know, sooner or later you’re going to have to accept that I was there that night too. You’re not fooling me.”
He heard her gulp. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was bored.”
“If that was boredom, I’d love to see you excited.”
She sucked in a small breath. The sound sent a signal straight to his groin, and he released her before he embarrassed himself. “Let’s get something to eat,” he said, reaching again for her hand. This time, she let him take it. Her small fingers folded into his, cold and soft against his guitar-calloused palms. “What sounds good?” His voice was tight.