I’m too stunned to move. Rune’s elevated heart pounds rhythmically against my ear. He has my head cradled against his chest tucked under his chin. I breathe in and catch a tantalizing hint of tangerine and something else appealing. Is it his cologne, or detergent, or the slightly sweaty him who smells so delicious?

In the forest canopy above us, birds sing and chatter away as if nothing has happened. I realize my arms are hooked around Rune’s lovely square shoulders and …oh God. I’m sprawled across him like a lover.

We realize this embarrassing situation at the exact moment. His hands drop to the ground as I let go of him. Afraid I might have given him a concussion from the impact, I put my hands down on the trail on either side of him and push myself up slightly so I can peer down at his face.

“How’s your head?” I ask, staring straight into his eyes to see if his pupils appear strange.

Rune’s eyes are darker green right now, reflecting the trees around us. Otherwise, they seem normal, except he’s not looking at me. For some reason, he’s staring at my mouth. For a nanosecond, it seems like he might kiss me. That can’t be true, can it?

“It’s fine,” Rune tells me, lifting his gaze as if it’s no big deal, “It’s pretty hard.”

As he says this, my face heats. My right thigh is between his two, against his package. It’s responding. Rune’s Freudian slip dawns on him in horror. We spring apart as if we’ve received an electric shock.

“You might have a concussion,” I tell him, trying to sound nonchalant as I retrieve my phone from where it fell out of my pocket, “I’m not sure it’s wise to keep running.”

I’m doing my best not to be flustered by the impact, how fabulous he smells, what’s going on in his pants, or what’s going on in my pants in response.

“I’m sure I’m fine,” he says brusquely, pulling his long shirt away from his body as if he’s too warm. I shoot him a fierce glance. He raises his hands in defeat, “Okay. I’ll play it safe; escort me home, Florence Nightingale. That is if you’re done shaking your groove thang.”

I roll my eyes at him to cover my discomfort as we turn around and head toward home. How much of my crazy dancing did he witness? We walk in awkward silence for a bit. We’re both doing our best to brush mud and wet leaves off ourselves. Rune’s sleek, light sage, expensive-looking athletic outfit has the worst of it.

“What’s my name?” I ask abruptly, trying to remember what I was told in a first aid class at riding camp about concussions.

“Shelby Elizabeth Pain in the Ass Alpinieri,” he recites, “Satisfied?”

“Mmmm,” I murmur. Wow. He remembered.

All things considered, it's better I not offer to brush the leaves and twigs off his back and rear end. We’ve had quite enough physical contact, thank you. I’m surprised I can walk straight with my lower regions spinning in euphoria from those brief seconds of touch. What is going on with my body?

Now’s your chance, girlfriend, Theo’s voice says brightly, Ask Rune to the fundraiser.

Now isn’t a good time, I think back, glancing sideways at Rune. He appears to be lost in thought, gazing up at the trees and running his fingers through his hair, which makes my fingers want to do the same. Down girl. If Jack’s bad news in that direction, Rune is terrible. Remember Sundance. Remember his new predilection for breaking hearts.

Now’s the perfect time, Theo insists, with what I could swear is a chuckle. Perfect. My dead great-uncle is laughing at me from beyond the grave.

If you don’t ask him, Theo says smugly, I will, with your voice.

You can’t, I think back, You’re not real; you’re only in my head.

Are you absolutely positive about that? Theo asks.

No, I’m not, I admit.

Theo chuckles gleefully. Crap.

“Rune,” I say quickly, terrified Theo might make good on his threat, “I have a favor to ask.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Oh?” He turns to me with his hands on top of his head in a way that flexes his biceps a bit too nicely through the thin fabric of his shirt. What a peacock he is.

“It might be a smart thing for you too,” I hedge, distracted by the realization those arms were wrapped around me, “that is if you’re interested in meeting new people around here.”

“Spit it out, Shells,” he narrows his eyes at me, sounding exasperated, as if he knows I was ogling him, “Just don’t ask for my first child; I’ve had a vasectomy.”

He continues walking as if he hasn’t shared something extremely personal with me, picking up the pace to prove he’s okay.

“Really?” I ask, almost jogging to catch up, shocked he’d admit this. Considering how he spends his free time, though, this is a wise move, “Good for you,” I say.

“Seriously?” He looks both surprised and disarmed by my reaction.

“Sure,” I say, “I mean, not everyone you date is someone you want to have kids with, and climate change is making the world a scary place right now,” I add this last bit about one of my favorite soap boxes. “I’d like to adopt someday, but I don’t feel comfortable having my own kids.”

“Exactly,” he agrees with alacrity, “so what’s the favor?” He sounds less annoyed now.

I’m glad he’s refocusing the conversation away from the way too personal. Still, I’d love to know what his ‘exactly’ is referring to. Is it everything I said or something specific? Is he blatantly admitting to being a notorious rake? Does he worry about climate change as much as I do? Does he want to adopt?

“I have an extra ticket to a fundraising event Saturday night on Bainbridge for this cool non-profit I work with,” I say instead, “It creates outdoor learning experiences for High School kids,” I tell him, speaking so fast I hope my words make sense. “If you’re free, would you consider coming with me?”

“What happened to your date? Is he out of town?” Rune asks, looking a little suspicious.

I school my face to keep it from wincing. How did he figure out it was a date last night? Or did Gunnar tell him about Jack and me?

“Ye...s,” I verbally stumble and then decide to be brutally honest in case he’ll agree to go out of pity, “but no, he’ll be there. He’s decided he needs to be a free agent right now. He thinks he’ll appeal more to the beautiful rich board member who hired him to do photography and videography work if we don't go together.”

“Ouch,” Rune grimaces at me.

“Yep,” I agree, “some friends and I have a table. I could go alone, but they’ll ask questions I don’t want to answer right now.”

“Is it fancy?” He asks, which is not the question I was expecting, “I have a suit with me but not a tuxedo.”

Is he actually thinking about saying yes?

Of course, he is, doll, Theo says, sounding very self-satisfied, This is Rune.

What the heck does that mean? Theo is suddenly radio silence. Rune’s looking at me expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Oh, no, it’s not a Hollywood kind of thing,” I clarify quickly; fundraisers to him must mean galas with red carpets, “It’s being held at a gorgeous private estate, but it’s just a regular costume party.”

“What’s the theme?” Rune asks, looking more interested.

“It’s a midsummer event, and this time it’s the summer of love,” I say, willing myself not to blush as Theo cackles with glee at me mentally.

“Like 1960s summer of love or some crazy pagan Viking orgy?” Rune asks, which is a valid question, but ack.

“The 1960s version; this is a fundraiser for a youth program,” I scowl at him to handle my embarrassment.

“We’re in little Norway,” he reminds me, opening his arms to gesture at the forest around us. “And the 1960s summer of love wasn’t tame either, Seashell.”

“So my dad tells me,” I shoot back dryly.

“Your dad went to Haight Ashbury as a toddler?” he asks, equally crisp. Of course Rune would know this kind of detail.

“No, but he’s studied it,” I say, sounding like the complete nerd that I am.

“What are you going to wear?” Rune cocks that right eyebrow at me.

“I haven’t decided yet, but I have several racks of Theo’s favorite clothes in the barn. I’m sure we can both find something that works in there.”

Rune stops in the middle of the trail, “You still have some of Theo’s vintage clothes?” His tone and expression are like I’ve announced a surprise Christmas.

“Yeah. I have all kinds of things of his in the barn he couldn’t let go of, including his favorite clothes,” I tell him. “Why? Will that sweeten the deal if you get to go shopping through the rolling racks in the barn?”

Clever girl, Theo says with delight.

Of course! Rune’s a total clotheshorse. He is so Wizard Howl.

“I’m totally in if I get to go shopping through Theo’s clothes,” Rune tells me enthusiastically; his energy changed as he starts walking again. “First, I have to see if Lorelei can stay with her friends for a few hours if Marguerite’s not available.”

“She’s not; she has another event that night. I already checked,” I tell him.

“Ah, okay, I’ll check with Lorelei’s Bainbridge friends then,” he tells me, taking out his phone and texting rapidly. Wow. What a difference the suitable bribe makes.

See, Theo says with self-satisfaction.

I ignore him and say instead to Rune, “I’m trying to decide what to do with these clothes. Theo couldn’t make up his mind. My mom wants Syd and I to give most of them to her friend Franklin Haus....”

“Don’t give them to Franklin Haus,” Rune says sharply, cutting me off. Then he sighs, realizing he spoke abruptly and starts scrubbing his hand over his hair again, “Look, I’m sure I can help you find the right buyer with some of my television and film contacts.”

“That would be fantastic. It’s been a nightmare squaring away everything for Theo. He was pretty disorganized.”

“My mom was super organized, and it still sucked. I can only imagine,” he says kindly.

It’s lovely to have someone my age understands what it's like dealing with the death of a loved one. I’ve been dealing with stuff I didn’t think I’d have to contemplate for decades.

“I have one more condition about being your date for this event,” Rune tells me decisively. I think about correcting him. It’s not really a date, but for some reason, I don’t.

“Okay. Name it,” I say, thinking fair’s fair.

“I choose your outfit.”