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He’d finished the second bottle when he heard a knock at the door. Probably another one of the neighbors offering their condolences. He sighed and opened the door.

Sarah Austin stood before him. He’d forgotten how short she was, probably only about five-foot-one or so to his six feet. Her blonde hair was shiny and smooth and fell to her shoulders. Dean remembered when it used to hang to her waist in braids. She hid whatever shape she now had under a baggy denim jumper.

He could still picture her as a skinny kid trying to fight off the bullies in their neighborhood who liked to pick on the small and brainy. Somehow it had fallen upon Dean to be her protector. He’d pretended it annoyed the hell out of him, but in truth, he had never minded. Something about Sarah had always made him want to be there for her.

He couldn’t quite decipher the expression on her face at the moment. Determination, maybe, and that made him a little uneasy. But she looked nervous too. He wasn’t sure how that made him feel.

Come to think of it, he was never quite sure how he felt around Sarah.

“Hello again,” he said. “Late lunch hour?”

“Um, not exactly.” She looked up at him, chewing on her bottom lip. He’d forgotten how big her brown eyes were. “I need to talk to you.”

He didn’t like the sound of it already. “Okay. Do you want to come in?”

Sarah nodded, and took a deep breath, as if she had to work herself up to walk through the door. Or maybe it was talking to him that she had to build up the courage for. Whatever it was, she followed him into the living room.

He picked up one of the brown bottles of root beer sitting on the coffee table. “Thirsty?”

“No, thanks,” she said quickly. Then she frowned and held out her hand. “I mean, sure. Thanks.”

She stood there in the middle of the living room looking like she had no idea what she was doing there. She didn’t say anything right away. She twisted the cap off the bottle and took a tentative taste. She looked up at him with surprise, obviously expecting beer instead of soda.

He didn’t tell her he’d had enough of the real thing back when he was young and stupid. When he’d finally had one too many hangovers and realized he would fulfill his father’s prediction if he kept on the way he was going, Dean switched from bottles of Bud to IBC.

She still didn’t speak, simply stared at the bottle in her hand. He scratched his head as she remained quiet. Didn’t she want to talk? “Sarah, what is it?”

Sarah took another swallow, then cleared her throat. She looked up at him with those big eyes, took a deep breath and blurted, “Take me with you.”

Dean wasn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t that. “What?”

“You’re leaving for Los Angeles in the morning, right?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“From Jennifer Krusick’s son. I want to go with you.”

“Sarah, I don’t understand. If you want to go to California, you can drive there yourself. You don’t want to ride on my bike.”

“Yes, I do. Anyway, my car died this morning.”

“Take a plane. It’s a lot quicker too.”

“I don’t want quicker. I want interesting. I want exciting.”

Heaven help him. Sarah Austin wanted excitement. “By the time we get to L.A. on my bike, your whole vacation will be gone.”

“I have a lot of vacation time saved up.”

“This is crazy.”

She laughed, but it wasn’t a light, happy sound. “I know. Please take me to L.A.”

He frowned. There was desperation in her face, in her voice, and he didn’t understand it. “Why do you want to go to California?”

She took a step closer to him. He could smell a light, flowery scent, probably from her hair. The shiny strands looked so soft he almost reached out to touch them before he caught himself and pulled his hand back. He stepped away before he could try it again.

“It doesn’t matter why I want to go,” she said, determination rising in her voice. “I’ll pay for everything. All the gas. The food. The lodging. Everything.”

“Sarah?” He stepped closer again, even though he knew he shouldn’t. He must have been allergic to that scent she wore because he felt a little dizzy, a little off-center around her. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Some emotion he couldn’t identify flashed in her eyes. “If you won’t take me, I’ll hitchhike.”

“Be serious.”

“I’m perfectly serious.”

“Sarah, be sensible about this.”

She started to shake and her face turned as red as it had this morning, but Dean could tell the difference between embarrassment and anger. This time he’d ticked her off royally.

But damn if she didn’t look fine. This was not the meek and mild little Sarah he remembered sitting on her front porch with her nose in a book. This Sarah was vibrant and alive. Her eyes sparkled. Her skin glowed.

He wanted to know more about her. What had she been doing all these years? What was going on with her now?

He wanted to give in to the crazy urge to pull her into his arms and discover what her body felt like beneath the baggy clothes. He wanted to kiss her and find out what her passion tasted like.

As he entertained his lustful thoughts, he saw Sarah pull herself together. Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, she relaxed her clenched fists. She stared at him through narrowed eyes and set the root beer bottle on the coffee table.

“Thanks, anyway.”

The regret on her face and in her voice seemed more a reflection on him, the one who’d protected her when she was young. Dean felt absurdly sorry to disappoint her.

She turned to leave, but she suddenly swayed and staggered. Dean reached out to catch her before her knees gave out. The distance between them was farther than he thought. He stretched out too far to catch her, lost his balance, and they both landed on the carpet.

She was soft and curvy beneath those clothes. That much registered as Dean held Sarah in his arms. He looked into her face. The blush was back. “Are you all right?”

She struggled to sit up. “I’m okay. Thanks…uh…for catching me.”

“Have you had lunch yet?” he asked, not letting go of her. She felt way too good in his arms.

“No.” She pushed him away from her and sat up.

“Well, what did you expect?” he asked. “Your body needs nourishment.” He’d never admit to her that his lunch had consisted of his one addiction. Root beer.

She looked down at the hands clenched in her lap. “I guess you’re right.”

He reached over and took the bottle of root beer she’d set down. “Here, drink the rest of this. It’s not nourishment, but it’ll give your body some sugar for energy.”

She took the bottle and raised it to her lips. Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away from her slender throat as she swallowed again and again. When she lowered the bottle, her lips were wet and shiny and for a moment Dean almost leaned into them. What would Sarah taste like?

As if she heard his thoughts, she ran her tongue over those moist and tempting lips and he almost moaned out loud. Scrambling to his feet, he helped her up and tried not to look at her lips again. He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “I’d fix you something to eat, but there’s nothing much here. Terry cleaned out the kitchen before she left.”

“That’s okay. I’ll have a sandwich while I pack.”

The little edge to her voice made him nervous all over again. “Pack for what?”

“I told you. I want to go to California. If you won’t take me, I’m going to hitchhike. There must be someone going in that direction.”

Her hands were shaking a little. Dean had to hope that meant she knew how foolhardy that idea was. He knew she said it in order to change his mind. He was afraid it was working.

“Sarah…”

“Don’t you understand? If I don’t do it now, I’ll never do it.”