“Here’s your water.” He tosses it to me from the back seat where he’s setting down everythinghe bought.
“What’s going on?” I ask, eyeing the folded black outdoor blanket.
“We are going on a picnic.”
“What? Where?”
He chuckles as he cranks the truck back up. “Down to the lake behind your house.”
We once more fall into silence as he drives, but my nerves are popping. He hasn’t stopped smiling this entire drive—from the church to the store and now to the lake. What is he doing? Why do I feel like a bundle of nerves?
But also, I feel settled. Whole. Complete as a finished puzzle.
I’m going to tell him. I don’t know why he wants to take me on a picnic, but I pray it’s because he feels the same way I do. All the signs are there. The feeling of something new is in the air.
I’m going to woman-up and tell him that I love him.
Okay, maybe I’ll start by saying I like him. As more than a friend. Make sure I don’t scare him off in case I’ve been reading everything wrong.
We arrive at the lake, and the sun reflects brightly off the water, causing diamonds to sparkle across the top of the surface. There is a light breeze, and the bracing autumn air is perfect.
I help him unload everything, and he talks me through all the foods he bought. Meats, cheeses, fruits, crackers, and chocolates. A wonderful combination.
After everything is set up, there’s nothing left to do but sit down and eat.
And talk…
I clear my throat, trying to be brave. “Why did you bring me out here for a picnic, Knightley?”
He stops mid-bite of a meat and cheese cracker. “I just thought it’d be nice. It’s a beautiful day, and I wanted to make sure we were okay from yesterday.”
He’s rambling, so I stand.
“What are you doing?” he asks, but when I walk a few steps over to the tree, he stands and follows.
Taking a deep breath, I decide it’s now or never.
I’ve never been one to back down from something I want, and I want Knightley George Austen. And judging by everything that happened last night and this random picnic, I think he wants me, too.
I plant my palms against his chest, heat burning through the thin, green fabric, and I shove him against the tree.
“Emma Jane. What in the world are you doing?” Knightley’s chest heaves underneath my palms, his back against the tree as red tints his pale, freckled face. Wild blue eyes stare at me like saucers awaiting a cup of tea. His hands are pressed against the oak, and I don’t miss the way his long fingers strain as if he’s gripping the bark to keep from grabbing something else.
Someoneelse.
Me.
“What you won’t do.” I stretch to my tiptoes, squeezing my eyes closed and taking the biggest matchmaking risk of my life. The last one of this stupid business I plan to dissolve. The moment my lips should be colliding with his, I’m met with…
Beard hair.
Infiltrating my mouth and poking my nose.
I open my eyes to a blurry vision of red hair, then I take a small step backward. “Did you just block me from kissing you?”
“Pray tell, Emma. Why are you trying to kiss me?” Knightley’s voice is tainted with a gravelly rasp.
“Because I’m pretty sure you like me the way I like you. And I do mean as much more than family friends, Squire.”
