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to suspect I was harboring stolen goods in a garbage bag. I took a sip of hot coffee that burned my tongue and tried to clear the sobering “what ifs” racing through my beer-clouded mind.
    He got into the car, and I thanked him for changing the tire. “I am grateful, and I do owe you for the cost.”
    “Yes, you do,” he said, winking. “Let’s go somewhere quiet to talk.”
    He wanted to talk— maybe code for confess? I sipped more coffee in silence until arriving at Mill Pond Park near the falls. Since it was half-past midnight, we did have a quiet spot to ourselves, not counting the splash and rumble of a waterfall. We found a picnic table near the bank and sat to finish our coffee and cookies.
    “These taste like your grandmother’s,” he said, after a big bite.
    “They are. She bakes them for a few convenience stores and shares the profit. I help out with her biggest orders.”
    He moved a little closer. “You know how to bake these?”
    I nodded. “Mrs. Fields has nothing on Granny Sanders’ Snickerdoodles.”
    He laughed. “You got a lot going for you, Peaches. Sure there are no suitors in that pond?” He rubbed his hand on the back of my neck and could probably feel the heat surge. “I like that about you. Sass and blush.” His fingers moved over my cheek. “Soft as peach fuzz.”
    I choked back the urge to giggle, along with too much cookie in my own mouth, and coughed. An unladylike hacking cough that made my eyes water. He thumped me on the back until I discreetly sprayed a few dry cookie crumbs, recovering enough to daintily dab my eyes and mouth with my forefinger.
    “You gonna be okay?” The moonlight reflected a white glow of teeth.
    Ducking my head to brush crumbs off my skirt, I nodded. “I…I always thought peach fuzz described the face of an adolescent boy.”
    He leaned into me, whispering, “I’d hardly mistake you for a boy. I meant that as a compliment.”
    “I’m not used to compliments.” I whispered back.
    “Now that’s surely hard to believe, Peaches.”
    With a shaky hand, I overshot a gulp of hot coffee that dribbled down my chin and into my cleavage. The lid of my cup popped off as I leapt to my feet, and what was left in the cup splashed onto his shirt.
    Caught by surprise, he yelped, “hot damn” and failed to steady his own cup. Watching his coffee run rivers over the tabletop, we swore “hot damn” in unison and laughed. He pulled off his shirt and, after balling it up, blotted my chin.
    “Your dress…I hope your peaches aren’t stained.” He lowered his aim to blot my chest then stopped in mid-air when the comment sank in, and we laughed again.
    Hazelnut coffee mixed with cinnamon cookies and the scent of beer on a moonlit night by the falls was a head-tripping mix. Add a gorgeous man with bare-chested credentials dabbing at your chest with his T-shirt, and my dress was the last thing on my mind. I may have even said, “Who cares” before his mouth found mine, and we kissed…until I was sure the heat radiating from inside would surely dry my dress on the outside.

Chapter Eight
    We were both breathless when the kiss ended. If I hadn’t been in his tight embrace, I might have dropped to my wobbly knees like a caravan camel. I slipped out of my sandals, hoping closer contact with hard ground would stabilize my legs.
    He slipped out of his boots as well.
    After another breathless repeat of the lip lock that turned my legs to rubber, I suggested we cool off with a wade in the pond. Taking my arm, he helped me navigate the rocks down the bank until we were ankle deep in cold water, being refreshed by a gentle mist from the falls. The sound of rushing water made talking impossible, but holding hands again, I could feel some kind of communication surge between us. Electricity. Could the falls generate such a thing—like heat from a campfire if you inched too close to the flame?
    The last time I remembered being at the base of the falls was over ten years