“When we were at Castle Creneda that first night, I wondered what your motives were,” he said. “Since then, I’ve come to realize how seriously you take your support of the, hmm, female readers—”
I swiped at him from my saddle but didn’t come close to hitting him.
“—but I don’t know if you realize how many lives you’ve saved by directing events as you have.”
Peanut Butter was in a good mood that morning, like me, especially once my clothes dried. He stopped to chew grass at the side of the road only once, seemingly more compelled to keep up with Draw’s horse than when in the sprawling caravan, it being just the two of them. The landscape shifted from the valley lands of two days ago to the gradually rising base of the mountains. We wouldn’t scale them but trek northeast through their foothills toward the coast. Pine forests scattered the broad, rocky hills, and I saw more than one hawk circling high above.
The trail was broad until near midday when Draw turned us off onto a smaller trek.
“How do you know about this place?” I asked.
He was examining a small snatch of map in his hand and spoke slowly, his attention divided. “I came here once as a child. My father did his duty running the estate, making appearances at court, but his real love was ancient ruins. These are called the Ruins of Lissa.”
I’d assumed we were going to picnic on the edge of a beautiful lake, but this was even better—lore not in the books.
“Father would sketch the architecture while I ran with my younger sisters.”Eldest and only brother. That made so much sense.“My mother was more interested in the flora and fauna around the ruins. She’s always been a great cataloger.”
“That sounds like a wonderful childhood.”
A large branch had fallen in the middle of the thin trail. Draw got off his horse, lay the reins on its neck, and moved the branch. His horse didn’t take off the moment it had freedom, something I wouldn’t be willing to test with Peanut Butter.
“Are your parents still living?” Draw asked carefully once he was back on his horse. We had to ride single file now and he took the lead.
“Yes, they’re traveling. I told you about the airplanes?”
“They’re really in anair plane?” He strained his neck to look back at me.
“Mmm-hmm, they went to help my aunt pack and move to a new house. They’re like that. They don’t have a lot of hobbies, or rather their hobby is helping people. I’ve always thought of it as vicarious living to set aside their own plans for others but now that I’m older, I think it’s genuinely nice.”
I felt overwhelmed, in a good way. This was how I had pictured conversations with fictional men—their utter interest in even the smallest details of my life, the thought and honesty I would put behind each answer. It was that stage of a crush where everything moved slowly when you were together and time never ran out.
The sun was centered in the sky when we arrived at a relatively small clearing. They really were ruins. A rounded building made of white stone stood in the center. Part of the roof had caved in, and the porch was circled by Doric columns in orderly lines. The trees had pressed in close, and broken bits of white block lay in several piles around the shady meadow.
Off the horses, I stretched while Draw traded their bridle and bit for rope halters, removed their saddles, and hobbled them to eat grass. He removed a small pack from his saddle and took my hand. A flurry went through my stomach.
I expected Draw to lead me to the porch of the ruins, but instead he spread a blanket in the grass so we could view it from our picnic.
I was about to ask what his father’s conclusions had been about the use of the building when Draw said with utter seriousness, “Dottie dear, how many men have you been with?”
“What?” I said alarmed.
He was nonchalant. “I told you my sexual history within a day of meeting you. I’m just trying to understand your experience.”
“Why?” I was not going to leave this conversation looking good.
From his amused expression, I could tell he was enjoying my anxiety on some level. Draw removed a collection of items from his bag—waterskins, a paper-wrapped wheel of cheese, cloth-wrapped bread, apples, and a covered container. “Because I have plans,” he said, “hopes really, and I’d hate for any of them to make you uncomfortable. That would, in fact, do the opposite of what I want.” He studied my face and seemed to think better of his humor. “I’m sorry, am I being too forward? I thought—”
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. I too had ideas of what we could do on this date. “I’m just a little embarrassed.”
“Dottie, we had a whole conversation about how that author of yours made it out that I only liked men and then I passionately kissed a woman from another planet to prove otherwise. Trust me?”
He offered me a piece of bread spread with creamy cheese and diced peppers. I took it but made no move to eat.
Draw was still watching me with those olive eyes. He untied his black hair, and it fell in thick bunches around his shoulders. I wanted to run my hands through that hair, wrap those long legs around me, let him put that elegant mouth on mine. To be so forward about it all though...I didn’t know how to respond.
He picked up an apple and bit into it.
One of the things I was coming to understand was something he said when we had our initial late-night conversation at Castle Creneda—it really was the mind he fell in love with. Talking was important to him. Part of the foreplay even.
