“You say sweet things.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. Like when you said I was a siren who doesn’t need to sing.” I imagined my expression mimicked the dazed and floaty feeling of my heart. “That was a sweet thing to say, even though it implied I sought your destruction by tempting you with my body.”

He shook his head, leaning away, one of his reluctant smiles teasing over his lips. Duane released me and pushed his fingers into my hair, his strong hands moving against my scalp and down to my neck. “That’s not what I meant when I said it.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“Have you read the Odyssey?”

“No. Have you?”

“Yes. It was required reading in my house. Remember, we didn’t have a TV growing up. All we had were books and our imagination.”

“Lord help us all, the Winston boys left to their collective imaginations,” I teased lightly, enjoying my view because Duane was my view.

“How much do you know about the story?” His eyes studied me and he cocked his head to the side. “Do you know the basics?”

“Of the Odyssey? It was about Odysseus’s travels. His journey home.”

“What about the sirens in the Odyssey?”

“I know a bit. I know the sirens are beautiful. Their beauty and their song inspire lust in Odysseus’s men and tempt the sailors to crash their ship against the rocks, more or less.”

“Nope. That’s not what happens. It’s not lust they inspire that drives sailors toward their own destruction.”

I squinted at him. “Then what do the sailors feel?”

“The sirens are beautiful, yes. But their song and their beauty call to the soul, not to the body. The sirens don’t inspire lust. They inspire longing. A deep, wrenching longing. Bone deep, so the sailors would rather die than live without the siren.”

I stared at him as he stared at me. I could tell he was waiting for me to catch on to his meaning, it didn’t take me very long because he voluntarily filled in the blanks.

“Your wanderlust, or farfigneugan or whatever—that’s your siren’s song.” He tilted his head to one side then the other, as though studying me from different angles before adding, “I get that.”

Again my heart bloomed, and I wanted to give him a similar gift. So I asked, “And yours is going fast? Is speed your siren’s call?”

He shook his head and his smile fell away, even as he continued to study my face with his trademark intensity and focus.

“No, Jessica,” he whispered, gaining a step forward and pulling me into his arms.

“Then what is?” I lifted my chin.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he kissed me.

***

Dinner was great. Cletus’s sausages were delicious, and the boys ate all of my apple pie.

But I was extremely cognizant of my 5:30 a.m. Friday morning alarm, so I had to leave much earlier than I would have liked. Duane asked Billy if we could use the truck, and when it was time for me to go, Billy, Cletus, and Beau stood on the front lawn and waved goodbye. It was actually really sweet, and a thought occurred to me as we pulled on to the main road, the Winston boys still visible in the truck’s rearview mirror: These boys needed a woman at the house.

They missed their momma. And they likely missed their sister. I decided I would make a habit of cooking with Duane every Thursday night.

Also, it wasn’t right that all five of Duane’s brothers were single. Goodness, they were a handsome and sweet bunch. Their collective singleton lifestyle was a crime against women everywhere. I further decided I would take it upon myself to find each of them suitable girlfriends over the next year.

“What are you plotting over there?”

I glanced at Duane in the driver’s seat. We were paused at a stop sign; he was studying me with knowing eyes.

I shrugged and tried to suppress my guilty smile. “Nothing much.”

“That’s a lie. You’re planning something.” Duane pulled through the intersection and I lamented the fact that our houses were so close.

“I just thought it would be nice for me to help you cook on Thursdays.” I turned in my seat and rested my elbow along the back of the truck’s bench seat so I could stare at his profile.

“Mmm hmm,” he said, like he didn’t believe me.

“And what do you mean by that ‘Mmm hmm,’ Duane Winston?”

“I can see the gears turning. You forget, I know your face by heart. You’re scheming.”

I laughed, loving everything he’d just said. “You know my face by heart?”

“Don’t change the subject.” Duane made an unexpected right on to a dirt and gravel road, just a half mile from his house. It appeared to be one of the unmaintained roads used by park rangers and hunters.

“Where are we going?”

“I want to show you something, it’s why I borrowed the truck. Don’t worry, this won’t take long. I know you have to get up for work early in the morning.”

“Can you give me a hint?” We were swallowed up by trees and pitch black night on all sides.

“Sure. In fact I’ll just tell you. It’s a hunting cabin. Billy and I built it four summers ago. No one else knows about it.”

“Not even Beau?”

Duane shook his head. “No. Not even Beau. Billy…well, Billy suggested I keep it a secret.”

“Why?”

“Probably because both Billy and I aren’t as social as Beau or Jethro, or even Roscoe. We both used to have a habit of losing our tempers when kept in close quarters. At home. Cletus goes on long trips—boar hunting and whatnot—but Billy and I aren’t in that habit. He suggested we use it as a place to lay low, cool off.”

“Why don’t you stay there all the time?”

“It doesn’t have electricity, and it’s small. It’s got an outhouse and an outside well, but not plumbing.”

I studied as much of Duane’s profile as I could given the lack of light. “But you’re showing me now…?”

He nodded once. “That’s right.”

“Is this national park land? Or are we still on your family’s property?”

“My family’s property.”

“Basically, you and Billy share it?”

“More or less. He doesn’t use it much, since he works all the time. Our house, the big house, is really just a place for him to store his stuff and sleep.”

“So this cabin, it’s like your fortress of solitude.”

He shrugged, his eyes flickering to mine. “I like to think of it that way.”

A slow burning thrill gradually warmed my belly as my overactive imagination ran away, stripped naked doing wild cartwheels, and made salacious plans. This place meant privacy. Time we could spend together, just the two of us, sharing hopes and dreams. Maybe this place would be where I admitted how much I felt for him, how I loved him. Maybe we’d use it to make plans for our future beyond the next thirteen months.

He pulled the truck off the gravel road and took a path I would never have noticed. After another few minutes the truck’s headlights illuminated a roughhewn, stone staircase leading to a dark wooden cabin.

I didn’t wait for Duane to open my door. Instead, I jumped out of the truck as soon as he stopped, but before he’d engaged the emergency brake. He left the headlights on, and they were the only source of light.

Duane called after me, “Slow down, Jess. Those steps aren’t as solid as they look.”

I forced myself to pick my way more carefully, which allowed Duane to catch up and place a protective hand at my back. When we reached the door, I tried it and found it locked.

“I have keys,” he said gruffly, unlocking the door, and stopping me from bolting forward by gripping my upper arm. He waited until I was looking up at him before pressing the keys into my palm. “Here, these are for you.”

“For me?” I grinned. I couldn’t help it.

He laughed lightly and shook his head, walking past me into the cabin and disappearing into inky darkness. I hesitated at the door, listened to the sound of his boots scuffing on the floor, then the strike of a match. Pale illumination filled the small space as he lit a candle. I stepped in and closed the door behind me as Duane walked around the rectangular space, lighting wax candles as he went.

It was small. Really small. Maybe two hundred square feet. The walls were finished—which was surprising—but were painted plain white and held no photos or paintings. A stone wood-burning fireplace took up most of one wall, a small table with two chairs took up another, and a queen-sized bed ran along the third.

“Are you cold?”

“No,” I said on a sigh, imaging us spending countless days and nights here, enjoying each other’s company, sharing more of ourselves.

Finally, I lifted my eyes and met Duane’s schooled expression.

He was studying me, my reaction to this place. Despite the careful coolness of his features, I could read his thoughts as clearly as though he’d spoken. He wanted to know if this place would do. If I would consent to him taking liberties with my body in this cozy cabin.

He was so silly.

So I said, “Duane, you are so silly.”