Into the Mist (Into the Mist 1)

Ford grinned. “It’s not man-hating to tell me you haven’t met a lot of grown-up men who read for pleasure. I don’t know many besides the men in my family either.”

“Well, good. Then that’s my answer. What kind of books do you like?”

“I read across genres. The truth is that I hate genre labels. I think they keep people from reading.”

“Oh my Goddess! I’ve been saying that for years! Like, even though there are some awesome romance books that I know my male students would love—because they’re labeled romance, it’s almost impossible to get guys to give them a try.”

Ford nodded. “Exactly. I really enjoy science-fiction and fantasy—especially sci-fi/fantasy written by women.” He grinned at her shocked expression. “Women tend to add more complex character development and—get this—sex to the genre. I enjoy both.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Mercury studied him with new eyes as they moved together around the dance floor. “What’s one of your fav sci-fi or fantasy books?”

“That’s easy. I love the queen of sci-fi/fantasy, Anne McCaffery.”

Mercury thumped him on his broad chest. “Get out! Pern is my go-to comfort world!”

Ford’s grin was boyish with enthusiasm. “Hey, I’ve always wanted to be Jaxom and Impress my own white dragon.”

Mercury laughed. “I named my first dog Ramoth, after Lessa’s golden queen dragon.”

“No way! When I was a boy I called my bike Mnementh and used to pretend that I was riding on the back of a dragon.”

“F’lar’s big bronze dragon!” Mercury’s cheeks hurt from grinning at him—not that she minded.

“Small world,” Ford said as his amber gaze met and held hers.

“Small world,” she said, still smiling up at him.

The Toby Keith song ended and the next began, with Tina Turner singing “What’s Love Got to Do with It?”

Mercury stepped out of Ford’s arms and blotted her face. “This is an excellent song, but not great to dance to, and I’m really thirsty.”

“Want to get something to drink?”

“Absolutely.”

Together, they walked to one of the big troughs full of wine bottles floating in ice water. Ford poured them two plastic cups full and then sipped silently as they watched people dance.

“In this moment it’s easy to forget we’re living in an awful apocalypse,” said Mercury. “Actually, I’m suddenly getting big Romancing the Stone vibes.” She glanced at him. “But you probably didn’t see that movie.”

“Joan Wilder? The Joan Wilder?” Ford said in a very thick Colombian accent, which caused Mercury to crack up.

“Oh my Goddess, I love that part.”

“I’m actually pretty fond of the festival scene. You know, where Joan Wilder and whatever Michael Douglas’s character’s name was—”

“Jack T. Colton,” Mercury said.

Ford grinned. “Yeah, that was it. Where Jack T. Colton and Joan Wilder have their first moment. That’s my favorite part.”

“Oxford Diaz, are you a romantic?”

“Oh, completely.” He held Mercury’s gaze and added, “I wish it could last. This night—this festival… But I agree with what Stella’s been saying. We cannot stay. I also feel—”

The women closest to them sent Ford shocked looks, and Mercury took his arm and lowered her voice. “Let’s check out one of these firepits—away from listening ears.”