“This place is awesome,” Jez says to me, glancing up at the toy pterodactyl hanging from the ceiling. “And these pancakes are amazing. I’ve never had gingerbread before.”

“Never?”

“I’ve led a sheltered life,” she says, her voice totally deadpan.

I laugh and hold my cup up for a coffee refill as our waiter passes by. We’re on South Congress at Magnolia Cafe, my favorite restaurant in Austin, second only to the original Magnolia Cafe on the other side of the river. It has a laid-back atmosphere, tons of character, and food that I’m willing to go out of my way for.

In this case, it’s not out of the way at all. Not only are we just a couple of miles from the Starfire Hotel, but we’re also right at the south end of the SoCo shopping area. And since Jez told me that she wanted to buy a souvenir for Del today, I figured we’d spend some time window-shopping our way back toward the river.

“We’re lucky we got in,” I say. “This place is usually jam-packed on Saturdays, especially during South By.” I glance around—it’s crowded, but not crazy busy.

“It’s not yet ten,” she says. “Anyone who was out late last night is probably still asleep.” Her teeth graze her lower lip as she looks up at me through her lashes. “I know I’d still be asleep after my very late night if it weren’t for having to get my sister out the door.”

“Is that so?” I ask, as her foot rubs my ankle from across the booth. “If you’re tired, we can always go back to the hotel and spend the day in bed while our sisters do the spa.”

“Tempting, but no.” She takes a sip of her coffee, and I get hard just watching her mouth on that white ceramic cup. “You promised me a day out.” She puts the coffee down, her eyes never leaving mine. “I’m looking forward to whatever you have in mind.”

“You, Jezebel Stuart, are a tease.”

“Maybe a little,” she says, then pulls her foot away. “But I can be good.” She sets her fork down and leans back. She’s managed to eat half of her short stack. Which, considering the size of the pancakes, is pretty impressive. “So tell me about this place. How’d you find it?”

“I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. I always got a kick out of the Sorry, we’re open sign, and when Kerrie was little, I used to tease her by telling her that the whole restaurant was part of a time warp.”

“Because of the sign that says they’re open 24/8?”

“She never believed me,” I say. “My sister is far too cynical.”

Jez laughs. “Yeah, she looked pretty cynical this morning when she was jumping up and down and clapping about a spa day.”

“She hides her cynicism well,” I retort, and Jez throws her napkin at me.

“When are you going to tell me the plan for the day?”

“Never,” I say. “You’re just going to have to trust me and go along for the ride. Think you can handle it?”

She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “No,” she says. But her smile says yes.

Half an hour later, she’s already bought Delilah three souvenir T-shirts from Prima Dora, a local shop next door to Magnolia, along with five packs of kitschy cocktail napkins. “Del loves this kind of stuff,” she says, grinning as we walk hand in hand, the shopping bag tight in my free hand. “Where to now?”

“Now we wander.”

“I like it here,” she says after we’ve walked a few more blocks. “Definitely trendy, but it’s colorful and fun and most everything seems local. Oh—”

She stops at the corner and points to Allen’s Boots. “That I need.” Her smile is wide as she turns to me. “Cowboy boots for when I’m back in LA. Authentic ones, don’t you think?”

“Who am I to argue?” I say, and we cross the street and head inside. Unlike some of the stores on South Congress, Allen’s Boots has been in this location forever, and the guys in there know what they’re doing—even going so far as to tell Jez that she’ll be better off if she breaks the red boots she’s chosen in slowly. She, however, insists on wearing them for the rest of our jaunt.

“I like them,” she says, kicking her foot out as soon as we’re back outside in the sun. She does a sort of hop-step, then leans against me as she laughs. “I saw that in a movie once. Well, not that. But some sort of dance step.”

“We’ll start with the two-step and let you work your way up.”

“You know how?”

“I’ve managed once or twice.”

“Show me,” she insists, taking my hands as if we were waltzing.

I laugh and back away. “Trust me. It’s better if I don’t try to teach you in public. My skills aren’t that good.”

“On the contrary,” she says, letting her hand slide down my T-shirt, and pausing just below my belt. “I think your skills are excellent.”

“Jez…”

I’m sorely tempted to blow off the rest of our excursion and teach her a few horizontal dance steps. But she just laughs and skips back. “Later,” she whispers. “Promise?”

“Oh, yeah,” I assure her.

She takes my hand and we head down the street again, and we talk about everything and nothing. The knickknacks in the windows, the shoppers passing by. The weather. Books. Even Irish poetry, although how we got on that subject, I have no idea.

When I ask, she just shrugs and laughs and grabs my hand, looking more carefree than I’ve ever seen her. And right then, I think that there’s not a single thing I want more in the world than to keep her looking that way forever.

It’s a dangerous thought … but somehow, it’s not as terrifying as it should be.

“Thanks,” she says later, as we leave Lucy In Disguise with Diamonds, both sporting funky pairs of retro sunglasses. “I needed this.”

“Who doesn’t need neon sunglasses?”

“Good point,” she says. “But not what I meant. Seriously,” she adds, putting her hands on my shoulders and rising up on her tiptoes to brush a soft kiss over my lips. “Thank you.”

She starts to pull away, but I cup her head, and keep her close, deepening the kiss until she moans, and I feel the reverberations all through my body.

“Where to now?” she whispers.

“Well, I have a whole day planned. After SoCo, I thought we’d rent a paddleboat and spend an hour or so on the river. Then we could grab lunch at one of the food trucks on Barton Springs Road, then head to South Austin and check out the Wildflower Center before heading back downtown for a sushi happy hour.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“Or we could skip all that, and I could show you my favorite view of the river.”

“Where’s that?”

“My condo.”

Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “So, I’m guessing that the view of the city is a euphemism?”

“It might be,” I admit. “I know you said you wanted your day out. But Jez—”

“Shut up, Pierce,” she says, silencing me with a finger on my lips. “And let’s go. I’d hate to miss an exceptional view.”