I shouldn’t have said half of the things I said to Cassidy tonight, I thought to myself as I steered in the direction of Bootleg Springs. I was already kicking myself for it. Those feelings were locked down long ago and had no business being voiced.

She shifted in the seat next to me, and I tried not to think about how right all this felt. Dinner had felt like a date. But not just any date. The kind with a whole history behind it, behind us. The kind with a cozy future in front of it.

I was walking a fine line right now. I could reach out and take the hand she rested on the console between us. And that would be crossing the line. The line Cassidy didn’t know about. The line I spent more time than I cared to admit wondering if it still existed.

I’d worked so damn hard trying to erase the stain of my upbringing. I was the son of an alcoholic and an emotionally unavailable mother. We’d been poor. Once in a while we’d been hungry. And that’s still what some people saw when they looked at me.

Not the master’s degree-earning high school vice principal. Not the community volunteer. The town council member. Or the shoveler of sidewalks, the carrier of groceries.

Cassidy had never seen me that way. But others had.

“Mighty big sigh you got there,” she commented, still looking out her window.

“I thought you fell asleep.”

“Nope, just running through my shopping list,” she said.

“Whatcha buyin’?”

“Cat supplies.”

“Cat supplies?”

“I’m adopting a cat.” Her tone implied that she was daring me to have a problem with it.

We lapsed back into silence, and I found myself once again wishing that I was holding her hand.

“Sorry about Erin,” she said, breaking the silence again.

“Not your fault.”

“She seemed nice.”

“I think she left with a guy at the bar,” I told her.

I could see the corner of Cass’s mouth lift. “Did she now?”

“And what’s so amusing about that?” I wanted to know.

“Nothin’ at all. Not a damn thing. Were you two serious?”

I shrugged and turned the radio on low. “Nah. Just a couple of dates.”

“You ever been in love?” she asked, turning to look at me.

“Nope,” I lied.

“Mmm.” She made that skeptical-like noise she tended to when she wasn’t believing the line she was being fed.

“You?” I asked.

“Never.”

We rode in companionable silence, listening to the radio.

When the lights of Bootleg appeared ahead, I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. “Still early. Want to get a drink at The Lookout?”

She glanced my way, looked at the clock. “Sure. Why not?”

The Lookout was a bar that sat high up on an outcropping of rocks that overlooked part of town and the lake. It got its name from its storied and exaggerated history as a lookout for bootleggers running their ‘shine across the lake into Maryland.

Now, it served as the center of our town. A place for neighbors to catch up, games to be watched, dances danced, and fights fought.

I pulled into the gravel lot, already overflowing with cars, and together we walked toward the front door. Cassidy stumbled in her impractical heels, and I caught her elbow. “Bootleg’s not gonna know what to do with you dressed like that,” I told her.

Usually she was in uniform. Who knew khaki and badges could be so sexy? Her off-duty uniform was jeans. And if I were being real honest, I couldn’t tell you which Cassidy I preferred. The stern deputy. The casual girl-next-door. Or this new creature in a slim-fitting dress and stilettos that Jayme would approve of.

Her eyes were smokier tonight, lips painted. I wanted to wipe the lipstick off with my mouth. I wanted her to mark me with it. Face. Neck. Chest. Cock.

I’d given up trying to stop the fantasies a long time ago.

And damn it. There it was. The erection that had been lurking since I sat down at the table next to hers.

I followed her into the bar, taking in the familiar sights and sounds. Nicolette was tending bar in one of her snarky t-shirts. Tonight’s read Y’all Need Jesus and Whiskey. The lights were dim. The tables were full. And there was a band on the stage doing their best to butcher Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Our neighbors and friends crowded around the bar watching the Steelers gain ground on the field.

I pointed Cassidy in the direction of the tables skirting the dance floor and mimed getting a drink. She gave me a thumbs-up and headed off to find us seats. I ordered two drafts of Cass’s favorite.

“You’re lookin’ spiffy tonight, Bowie,” Nicolette pointed out.

“Somebody had a date,” Opal Bodine, no relation, piped up. She was wearing a Cockspurs sweatshirt and nursing some moonshine concoction in a jar.

“Guessin’ it didn’t go well?” Nicolette asked, plopping the beers down in front of me.

I looked over to where Cassidy waved from a table in the corner. “It didn’t go too bad,” I told them.

Weaving my way through the crowd, I found Cassidy sharing a table with Millie Waggle, Nash Larabee, and—damn it all to hell—Amos Sheridan, Cassidy’s ex four or five times over.

Cassidy had taken the chair next to Amos, and they were arguing about Zac Brown’s new album. I pulled out the chair next to Millie and slid Cass’s beer across the table. “Evenin’, all.”

“Hey, Bow. You two are looking fancy tonight,” Millie said. Millie was my sister and Cassidy’s age and dressed like a 70-year-old Sunday school teacher. She also baked like an angel and did the bookkeeping for the Bootleg Springs Spa.

“Yeah, y’all finally go on a date?” Nash asked.

The table erupted in laughter except for me and Cass.

“Did you know you two were voted least likely to hook up in the last town newsletter?” Amos pointed out. “See, Cassidy here is never gettin’ over me.”

Cassidy elbowed him in the gut with a familiarity I didn’t much care for. I hated it when she dated him. Hated it when she dated anybody, but especially Amos.

“What’s your name again?” Cassidy asked him sweetly batting her eyelashes. Everyone laughed again.

“What’s this about the newsletter?” I pressed.

Millie giggled. “Oh, it’s just silliness. Every week there’s a poll. You two were voted least likely to date. Y’all beat out Misty Lynn and Rev. Duane.”

I must have been making a face because Millie leaned in. “It’s for fun, Bow. Nothing to get your knickers in a knot. You two are as close to brother and sister as you can get without the blood is all.”

I looked across the table at Cassidy. What I felt for her wasn’t even a distant relation of brotherly.

“I really need to start opening my newsletters,” Cassidy joked. I could tell she felt as awkward as I did over the topic.

I sat back in my chair and forced myself to relax. We yelled over the music, and I tried not to want to punch Amos in the face when he looped his arm over the back of Cassidy’s chair. When the band shifted gears into something low and slow, I went with it.

“Wanna dance, Cass?”

The table shut up right quick, and Cassidy blinked. She was a sucker for Chris Stapleton, and “Tennessee Whiskey” was one of his best.

“All right,” she said slowly.

I stood and held my hand out to her. She took it after the slightest hesitation, and I led her onto the dance floor. It was crowded with bodies swaying and sliding. I pulled her into the darkest corner and thanked the sweet baby Jesus when she slid her arms around my neck.

I didn’t care what anybody said. This was right.

We ticked and tocked with the slow beat. I’d shed my suit jacket and loosened my tie at the table. Cassidy had pulled the pins out of her hair. Here we were halfway between who we were every day and who we were on special occasions.

I thought she’d talk. Ask me why I’d asked her to dance. But she kept her eyes glued to me as we worked our way around in a lazy little circle. I felt her fingers playing with the ends of my hair and pulled her close enough that neither one of us could pretend this was a friendly dance.

Our faces were close. Cassidy’s heels put her within easy kissing distance. I could feel her breath on my neck. Could see her pulse flutter at the base of her throat. I wondered what she was seeing of me up close and personal.

We’d danced before. About a hundred times over the course of our lives. But this was different. And I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the clothes. Maybe it was the challenge from the newsletter. I was a Bodine after all. Tell us we can’t do something and watch us do it with both middle fingers flying proudly.

“People are gonna talk,” Cassidy said softly.

“About what?”

“This. Us. Showin’ up here all fancy and then slow dancin’.”

Her lips were that rose petal pink that I found absolutely irresistible. I stopped myself from tracing my thumb over her full lower lip.

“Does that bother you?” I asked, sliding my palm over the small of her back.

She shook her head. “Don’t much care. Besides, we know the truth.”

“What truth?” I asked. Every inch of her was pressed against every inch of me. I could feel the heat rising off of her.

“That I’m nothin’ but your little sister’s best friend.”

“You’ve never been just my little sister’s best friend, trouble.”

My old nickname for her made us both smile a little.

The song was over. The band was kicking it up again with an East Coast swing. Cassidy was unwinding her arms from my neck, but I didn’t want to be done touching her yet. I squeezed her slim hips with both palms, keeping her against me for just a second longer.

She brushed her hands across my chest. “Thanks for the ride and the dance, Bow.”