I’d left my Berlitz book in the locker along with my street clothes, thinking I wouldn’t need to translate anything I might find inside a sauna. However, as I started into the steam room, an elderly woman stopped me, shaking her finger in front of my face and pointing at a sign.

It read, “textilfrei”. Textile Free? What did that mean? My German seriously sucked.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I said, jerking back my face when her finger wagged too close and feeling my face flush with heat.

Behind me a deep, accented voice said, “The sign says ‘no clothing’, Fräulein.”

The woman nodded sharply to the person behind me, gave me a loud harrumph and headed into the sauna with her large, white towel tucked beneath her armpits.

I turned slowly, heat rising in my cheeks. The man behind me was tall, broad-shouldered, with a severely square jaw à la Schwarzenegger, blonde hair and crystal blue eyes. He wore only a thick white towel, knotted around his slim hips.

My blushed deepened. “Really?” I blurted. “No clothes? But it’s coed.”

“Sorry, miss. But Germans take their saunas seriously. Go remove your clothes and wrap a towel around you.” And as though I was simple-minded, he placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me toward the women’s dressing room.

When the door swung closed behind me, I took a deep breath. Part of me was angry because they’d both embarrassed me. The other part couldn’t forget how heavy and strong the hands he’d laid on my shoulders felt.

An arm filled with red and pink blooms, Amanda Blakely tugged down the hem of her pink uniform shirt, drew in a deep breath for courage and rang the doorbell.

One minute stretched into two. She rang again.

“All this stressing out over seeing him again, and he’s not even home,” she muttered.

Although why she’d been so excited when she’d written down the name the woman on the phone had given her, she couldn’t have said. The high-school memories she had of Dustin Fremont, if it was even the same guy, weren’t exactly ones she pulled out when she wanted warm and fuzzy feelings. Maybe she was just plain curious.

Or hopeful—that he’d grown a paunch or lost all his thick brown hair.

She shifted the large bouquet in her arms and sighed. This was the last delivery of the day and she was damned if she would try him again later. The roads were getting slushy and a freeze was forecast for the area. She needed to head home soon. She gave the bell one last poke and leaned her ear against the door.

The door swung open and she fell forward with a yelp.

Strong hands gripped her forearms, holding her away, but she thrust out the hand not holding the flowers and her palm slid across damp, naked skin. When she’d caught her balance, she drew in a shaky breath, cringing inside, and lifted her gaze to meet that of the boy she’d crushed on throughout high-school.

Good lord, there was even more of him to swoon over now.

And so, not a boy anymore.