But I need a night out to talk to someone besides you, a goat, and a raccoon, so suck it up. For me, please.” “Fine,” Jonah grumbles, but he leans in to press his lips against mine. “You look good tonight, by the way.” I smile. It’s the first time since moving to Trapper’s Crossing that I’ve made “night-out” effort with my hair and makeup and clothing, choosing a pair of tight blue jeans, my black leather riding boots, and a flattering yellow-and-black checkered button-down over our new branded, form-fitting T-shirts—an outfit that in my opinion says “Alaskan chili cook-off,” but with style.
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