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At the boutique next door, Damon found a pair of fluorescent pink platform heels with rhinestone butterflies and held them up in the air.

“The Walk of Shame,” he announced.

“I’m not wearing those.”

“Obviously.”

He squeezed his feet into them and strutted down the center of the shop like he was closing Paris Fashion Week. I recorded him as I laughed so hard I had to lean against a rack of clothes.

The clerk at the shop also filmed him. An elderly man applauded. And Damon took a dramatic bow.

Two challenges down.

At the bookstore, we reenacted the cover of a romance novel featuring a shirtless cowboy dipping a woman backward.

Damon studied the cover.

“Think we can pull it off?”

I pointed at him. “Your shirt stays on.”

“Someone doesn’t want to win.”

“I'm establishing boundaries.”

He dipped me so low my hair nearly brushed the floor. I shrieked. He grinned.

The bookstore owner snapped the photo. And I realized I hadn't laughed this much in months. Maybe years. Maybe ever.

By the time we reached the bakery, we'd completed the heart-decoration kiss-cam photo, a mystery-drink taste test, and a pickup-line competition judged by a couple on their first date.

Damon's winning line?

“I believe in following my dreams. Can I have your Instagram?”

I threatened to leave him there. They gave him a nine. Then it was my turn, I went with a classic.

“Are you from Tennessee? Because you're the only ten I see.”

Mine earned a three. I demanded a recount.

At the bakery, we shared a strand of strawberry licorice without using our hands to complete the Lady and the Tramp challenge. Which brought our mouths dangerously close.

Damon's eyes held mine as the candy shortened between us. My pulse went haywire. At the last second, I bit through it.

He chuckled. “Chicken.”

“Health code violation.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Next came the cake-feeding challenge. We both closed our eyes. I successfully delivered a bite of chocolate cake to his mouth. He somehow managed to smear frosting across my upper lip.

“Oops,” he said.

I opened my eyes. He was smiling. Before I could wipe it away, he brushed his thumb over my lip. Then, without breaking eye contact, he licked the frosting off his thumb. My brain short-circuited.

“You're a menace.”