“Shut up, Grace.”

That only made her laugh harder. “Relax, I’m going to fix this for you. I hope.”

“How?”

“You’ll see. Don’t be so crabby—I’m going to get you dry.”

Troy aimed all the vents at himself and turned up the fan. “Lucky I didn’t get washed off the edge,” he muttered, rubbing his hands together.

“I admit, that wouldn’t have been as funny,” she said.

“You have a very big laugh for a little girl.”

“I know.”

A few minutes later, she parked in front of the souvenir shop. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“You’ll see.” She grabbed her purse and jumped out, leaving the car running for him. She jogged inside and less than five minutes later came running back to the car with a roll of paper towels in one hand and a shopping bag in the other. “These were donated by the cashier,” she said, handing him the paper towels. “And these are for you!” Grinning widely, she pulled a sweatshirt out of the bag—it read My Heart Is in Coos Bay. “I got the largest one. And here are some shorts.” She pulled out a pair of women’s shorts with eyelet lace sewn around the legs. “They’re actually from a pajama set, but they’re XL. They didn’t have any men’s pants, just tops. This was all they had, but they’re dry.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“It’s okay, you have nice narrow hips. If this place hadn’t had clothes, I was going to take you to that fire station, but this is better. And you don’t ever have to wear them again, just till we get you home.” She craned her neck, looking around. They were alone in the parking lot. “Take off your shirt and dry your head and body...”

“In the car?”

“You’re a guy! Guys strip on the street if they have to! Guys pee off boats!”

He ripped off his shirt and used paper towels to dry his hair, neck and his damp chest. He put on the sweatshirt. “Good. That’s good.”

“Pants. Come on.”

“They’re not that wet...”

“You’re soaked. I won’t look,” she said, turning away.

“I’m okay, but thanks for the thought.”

“Your pants are wet and it’s cold. You already made the seat wet—get your pants off and sit on a bunch of paper towels. Even if we get it warm in here, you can’t be sitting in cold, wet pants.”

“It’s New Year’s Day and nothing is open. How’d you know about this place?”

“We passed it on the way up. I asked myself what would be open on a holiday—the souvenir shop was all I could think of.” She smiled. “I almost grabbed you a couple of refrigerator magnets while I was in there.” She touched his shoulder. “Put on the nice, dry shorts, Troy. I’ll close my eyes. Besides, cold and wet as you are, there probably isn’t that much to see.”

He lifted one eyebrow. “Did it ever occur to you that’s why I’m not undressing in front of you?”

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll go back inside the store. There’s no one in the parking lot. Get it done.”

And with that, she was out of the car. She chatted it up with the cashier for a minute, explaining Troy’s shyness. She glanced at her watch, supposing enough time had passed. When she walked back outside, what she saw caused her to stop dead in her tracks.

A police car was parked next to the Jeep and an officer had Troy out of the car, standing in his wet stocking feet wearing his ladies’ shorts, talking and shivering. Oh, no! she thought. He must have been changing when the officer pulled up. Of course he had to take off his shoes to get out of his pants. She could imagine what the officer thought! She took two steps toward them to help, to be a witness to Troy’s explanation.

But she started to laugh again and was absolutely no help at all.

* * *

Troy insisted on taking over the driving. He was no longer chattering and shaking. He was, however, a little out of sorts. And he cast glances at Grace, who was looking out the window attempting not to laugh, the attempt causing her to snort now and then.

She turned toward him, her hand suspiciously covering her mouth. “So, how did the police become involved?”

“He snuck up on me as I was changing pants. I was at a disadvantage. My wet jeans were tossed over the seat and these pretty little shorts you so kindly bought me were around my ankles and I was drying off when I looked up and he was staring in the window. He told me to get out of the car. I had barely stopped explaining the situation when you came out of the store and laughed until you almost peed yourself. I’m writing a letter to the city council. I think it’s unprofessional for a police officer to laugh until he farts.”

Grace quickly looked out the window. She snorted again. She got the hiccups.

“Glad I could be so entertaining,” he grumbled.

“Are you going to drop me off at the flower shop?” she asked.

“Oh-ho, no way, Gracie. I might’ve screwed up my first attempt at showing you how to have fun but I’m not giving up. And I’m not letting you do accounting on a holiday! I’ll just clean up and we’ll go at it again.”

“Really, Troy, I think your work here is done. I don’t think I’ve ever had more fun in my life.” She snickered a little and bit her lip. “Besides, I think you might be mad at me for laughing. And that doesn’t sound like fun.”

“I’m not mad,” he snapped. “I’m wet!” He took a breath and said, “I’ll be more fun when I’m dry and not wearing girl pants.”

“I think you’re fun right now,” she said. Then she grinned at him.

He parked behind his apartment complex and led her up to the second floor, leaving all his wet clothing outside the door. He unlocked his dead bolt. Once inside, she looked around. “Wow. Nice.”

He smiled to himself. It was a crappy old complex on the outside, but Troy had done a little work on the inside. He’d painted, for one thing, and bought a nice, deep and fluffy area rug to put over the old and worn carpeting in the living room. He had some nice shelving and a fifty-seven-inch flat screen. He’d made repairs and improvements here and there, like taking down the shower curtain and installing a glass shower door, sanding and refinishing the bathroom cabinets, scrubbing the place like he owned it. His parents’ old leather sectional fit right in. The only things he had that were new were the butcher-block table and high chairs. His bedroom furniture was only a few years old and he had been collecting a few framed LeRoy Neiman prints for the walls. The frames were more valuable than the prints, but he liked Neiman’s sports art.

“Make yourself at home. Help yourself to anything—eat, drink, whatever. There’s the remote. I have to get a shower. I’ll be quick.”

He left her standing in the small living room. Once he was under the hot water, sudsing the smell of salt and seaweed from his hair and body, he smiled to himself. Grace was a free spirit. A little wild and uncontrolled with a deep-down joy and playfulness that turned him on. He might’ve acted a little insulted at her lusty humor directed at him but, to be honest, he wouldn’t have it any other way. That was no prissy little laugh the girl had: she laughed down to her toes. There was passion in her.