“For both of us?”
He nodded again.
“Like a date lunch?”
A small, maddening, heart-wrecking smile curved his mouth. “If you want to call it that.”
I was going to combust.
When I didn’t immediately respond because the oxygen in the shed had evaporated, he lifted a canvas bag from the workbench.
“Come on,” he said gently. “There’s a good patch of sun behind the cabins.”
I followed him outside, hope or panic thumping in my chest, I couldn’t tell which. He led me to a quiet spot behind Cabin Four, where the grass had finally emerged from beneath the snow this spring. The sunlight there was warm, bright, and impossibly gentle, and I saw a little care package.
He spread out a blanket and unpacked the lunch.
Sandwiches. Fresh fruit. Two lemon bars. And a container of what smelled unmistakably like Violet’s lavender iced tea.
“You went to my sister,” I said.
“I bribed your sister,” he corrected.
“How?”
“I told her I’d tell her how our date went.”
“…she fell for that?”
“She asked for a lifetime supply of information.”
I snorted, sitting down beside him. “That sounds like her.”
He handed me a sandwich wrapped in parchment. I took it, unwrapping it slowly, not entirely sure my hands were steady enough for this moment.
He glanced at me.
“You look less stressed this week.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Should I not?”
“No,” I said, pointing at him with my sandwich, “absolutely not. This calm, stable version of me is temporary. A blip. A miracle.”
His lip quirked. “You’re allowed to be calm.”
“It feels shady,” I said. “Suspicious. Like the universe is luring me into a trap.”
“A trap,” he repeated.
“Yes,” I insisted. “Any moment now, something is going to fall out of a tree and hit me. Or a raccoon will steal my sandwich. Or—”
“You could,” he said gently, “let yourself enjoy this.”
I swallowed and let myself enjoy the sunlight, the quiet…the warmth of his voice.
“You make things dangerous,” I whispered.
