"You're not my prom husband until I get a dance out of you, with witnesses." Shoving his hand the rest of the way into Ty's, he squares his shoulders a bit under the sequins. Squares himself internally for the sharper presence at his side, the warmth of a hand, the rush of reaction.

It's too soon to decide, if the rush is better or worse, when it's so close to what he already feels.

"I hope you didn't leave the tickets in the limo," he says, looking out at the street like it might pull up alongside.