Midsummer Sweetheart by Katy Regnery Page B

out.
    “Can we just—?” he started, and then stopped.
    Can we just what ? Can we just hold hands and do anything else that comes naturally without any labels or promises or expectations? Can we forget that our families are connected through blood and marriage? Can we just absolutely not get involved romantically with one another even though I can barely think straight when I’m around you, I want you so much? Can we just do and not think ?
    No. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t possible. No, Erik. You can’t. He looked down, loosening his grip on her hand.
    Katrin didn’t pull her hand back as he expected her to. She tightened her grip and squeezed his hand gently. He looked at her in surprise. She wasn’t smiling, but both dimples were caved in, which meant that she was holding one back.
    “It’s okay, Minste .” Her voice was a whisper, a reassuring murmur.
    Relief flooded through him, followed by something else; some new feeling that he couldn’t put his finger on. It was a good feeling, a little like gratitude, like he wasn’t losing ground, but maybe giving a little away because he wanted to. He grinned at her, curling his fingers back around her hand.
    “Supper?”
    “That is what you’re here for, isn’t it?”
    Apparently among other things , he admitted to himself. “You know a place?”
    “I know a place. Come on.” She tugged on his hand, and he followed her lead.
    ***
    There was no way Katrin was going to let go of his hand once she had taken it, because that thing that always happened between them when they touched had already happened, and it felt too good to let go of him. It was like their bodies recognized each other, in spite of their short acquaintance, like their bodies were magnets, drawn to one another with a fierce gravity.
    They settled at an outdoor table in Katrin’s favorite spot in Skidoo Bay, an upscale bistro with an eclectic menu, called Collage. From where they sat, on a small deck adjacent to the main dining room through a sliding glass door, they had a terrific view of an inlet of Flathead Lake, and the bridge beyond that went over a byway connecting the inlet to the larger lake. Behind them was a large, fir-covered hill, and in the distance the snowcapped Rockies rose up into the still-blue late-afternoon sky.
    “I haven’t had dinner here yet,” she confided, smiling. “But, I have come twice for a cup of coffee with Gabrielle. Once we just chatted and wrote postcards, and once we brought books. The view of the lake…it’s lovely, isn’t it?”
    “Lovely. Yes.” He sipped his water, staring at her. “What’re you reading?”
    “Re-reading, actually. My favorites are comforting . Persuasion the first half of the week and now I’m halfway through Mansfield Park .”
    He nodded politely, and then turned his attention to the menu.
    He’s probably never heard of Jane Austen. Katrin propped her elbow on the table, and rested her chin in her palm, looking out over the inlet, thoughts of England circling in her head. “It doesn’t feel as Montana-ish here.”
    “As in Choteau?”
    “Mmm.”
    “You don’t like Montana?”
    “I love Montana. It’s my home. But, it’s also good to get away. This feels like a holiday. It feels like Europe.”
    “Have you been to Europe?”
    “Yes. Ten years ago. When I was twelve. To England. I went for two weeks to visit my cousins. My Uncle Sean…Sam’s father? He worked as the curator at a museum in Chicago, and one summer he did a three-month project at a museum in London. They invited me and Kristian over for two weeks when they went on ‘holiday.’ Kris didn’t want to go so I went alone.”
    “To England? Alone?”
    Katrin nodded, more to herself than to him, remembering the excitement of traveling internationally on her own. “Mmm. I used to be braver, before…anyway, it was the best adventure of my life.”
    “I think you’re still pretty brave,” he said. “Wait a minute now, you’re saying England was a