It had seemed so clear to her, in that little booth, what she wanted, what they both wanted, but now that she was looking at the row of log cabins by the lake, which by all rights should have been the picture-perfect romantic spot, she wasn't so sure. He came back out to the car, hopping in and starting it up. He drove around the cabins, toward the lake, and stopped near one of the rows not facing the street.

“We're in the one on the end,” he said. “Still have a nice view, though, huh?”

“Beautiful…” She listened to the ticking of the engine, the lapping of the water on the shoreline, the sound of the birds in the trees above them. His hand moved over hers as it rested on her denim-clad thigh and she looked at it, not him. His hands were soft and looked like they would be gentle and his nails were neat and squared off, as if they had been manicured.

“We don't have to,” he said and she smiled, still looking at his hand, so large it nearly swallowed hers.

“I want to,” she replied, finally looking up and meeting his eyes. She couldn't read his expression. “Don't you?”

“Yes.” He slid his hand up her bare arm. There wasn't much of a gap to bridge between them-the car was small and the two bucket seats were very close. She could feel his breath, and he smelled like the beer they had been drinking in the bar not half an hour ago.

She wouldn't remember later who leaned in first, but they kissed there for the first time, their mouths doing a slow, tentative exploration together. He broke the kiss and she opened her eyes to see him looking at her as if he were trying to figure something out.

“Here, you take the key.” He held it out to her. It was attached to an orange rectangular tab with the number 110 on it. “I'm going to put the top up and I'll meet you inside.”