“So, this doesn’t bother you?” I ask with a general motion of my hand, encompassing all the staring eyes.
“This?” He waves to someone behind me, and I turn to see Mimi from the bakery duck behind her menu. “This is nothing. I’ve had people scrutinizing my every move since I canremember.” His gaze flits back to Sheriff Jacobs. “Although I will say it’s the first time anyone has done so with their hand on a weapon.”
“He has three young daughters. I think he’s just practicing intimidating males on dates.” I take another bite of my fettuccine. “Why did you feel scrutinized growing up?”
“I’m the only child of a family dynasty. In a very small way, to a select group of people, it was a bit like being a royal heir apparent. Everything I did was picked apart and weighed. Would I grow up to be someone who could take on the mantle, or would the buck stop with me?”
“So it hasn’t been just your father that you’ve been trying to prove yourself to.”
“He’s the head of the company, and he leads in such a way that whatever he says must be absolute truth. I always knew that if I could win his approval then the board and the rest of the employees would give it as well.”
“That must have been hard, growing up like that.”
“I don’t want to give a bad impression of my dad or my childhood. Sure, there were things that were difficult, but I also know I had it really easy compared to others. And Dad can be exacting and singularly focused, but he’s also a really good man.”
My experience with John King has been colored by my own personal disappointment. If I let go of the hurt, though, I can admit that he’s more faceted than just a tactless publishing house president. He’s been a good employer to my parents, giving them generous holiday bonuses and even helping with some medical bills that were incurred when Dad was hospitalized with pneumonia a few years ago. I also know that he’s a loving husband. He may work too much, but he adores his wife. I used to watch him dance with Mrs. King in their living room when I was a little girl. No one else was around. Just the two of them, staring into each other’s eyes with the most loving smiles on their faces.
“I know he’s a good man, Julien,” I say, acknowledging it’s true even though I can still feel the phantom pain of that day. It might always be there, like a little thorn in my side. The voice of my own self-doubt verbalized in my ear. But I still know that John King is a good man and a good father. Even if he fails at times, like not cushioning his rejection in kindness with me or with making Julien feel like he has to keep proving himself. I think he tries, and effort is all anyone can really ask for.
“Are you guys still doing okay?” the server surprises me by asking. I hadn’t even noticed her walk up to the table. “Can I get you any dessert this evening?”
Julien looks at me with a question in his eye.
“I should have saved room, but I can’t eat another bite.”
Julien turns his attention back to the server. “Can we get a tiramisu to go, with a couple of take-out forks?”
“No problem.” She smiles and heads back to the kitchen.
“If you’re interested, I thought we could drive up the mountain and do some stargazing. I have a telescope in my car, but I warn you, I’m not that experienced at using it.”
“Sounds like fun.”
The server comes back with the dessert, Julien pays for the meal, and we both wave good-bye to everyone in the restaurant.
When we step outside, I look up at the sky. “I’m not sure we’re going to be able to see very many stars tonight.” Thick clouds hang overhead, blocking any view of a diamond-studded sky. “Care for a stroll around town instead?” I’m not ready for the night to end.
Julien takes my hand and threads our fingers together, setting off at a meandering speed along the sidewalk. It’s nice, holding hands.
I’m not like Evangeline. I haven’t been looking for love around every corner. I haven’t felt like something was missing or I wasn’t whole simply because I didn’t have a man inmy life. While I believe in love and marriage and have wanted both, my life hasn’t been on hold, waiting to start until the time when I could share it with one specific person. Instead, I like to think I’ve been sharing it with everyone around me. That I’ve found fulfillment in myself, and because of that, I have more now to give because of my own contentment.
It’s nice, though. This connection that is unlike any of the others. Not just the physical, my hand in his. But the one that seems to be growing between our hearts, braided together like the bracelet I gave him all those years ago. Each strand a different part of us—shared history, common interests, communication, understanding, openness, and vulnerability—all weaving and twining together, binding us to the other a little more with the passing of time.
We walk along the sidewalk in silence, simply enjoying the other’s company and the evening as a whole. We pass the little shops along Main Street—a boutique clothing store, Mr. Lawrence’s hardware store, and an ice cream parlor famous for their fresh, homemade waffle cones. The park is just past the downtown strip of businesses, a beautiful greenspace that the town uses for community events such as Easter egg hunts and summer outdoor concerts. There’s a white gazebo in the middle of the lawn, and Julien follows the path to the outdoor structure. Benches line the inside of the gazebo, and Julien tugs me down beside him on one of them. He releases my hand, then lifts his arm and settles it around my shoulder, nudging me close to his side.
“I’ve been thinking about our time together, especially our time in Florida,” he says, his breath warm as it flutters against the side of my face.
I let my head rest against his shoulder, snuggling close. “Oh?”
He pulls me closer, tighter. Wouldn’t it be heavenly to stay just like this, always?
“Yes, and I’ve reached a conclusion.”
Even through the layers of his clothes, I can feel his heartbeat under my palm. The steady thump is soothing, and yet I can feel my own pulse picking up speed. “And what conclusion is that?”
He hooks a finger under my chin and tilts my face up to look into my eyes. His gaze on me is like a caress. He doesn’t rush as his eyes sweep over me, as if he’s memorizing me in this moment so he can tuck the image away and have it to pull out and inspect any time he wants.
His eyes come back to land softly on mine. “I like having you as a partner,” he states simply.
