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“I learned to draw it for my cousin’s son. His name is Toby and he loves lions. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that it looks like your old lion friend.”
Emma grinned. “How old is Toby?”
“Three.”
“Aww.” Emma’s smile widened. “That’s a good age.”
“It is. He’s so imaginative and sweet. I don’t really see him enough, though. I’m too busy with work and I tend to avoid big family gatherings, like Christmas and Thanksgiving, because I don’t want to see my parents that often.”
“Maybe that’s what you should be doing.”
“Hmm?”
“Yeah. Remember when we were in your office and I told you that you should do more things outside of work? And you told me that you’d heard that before?”
“Sure.”
“Maybe you should be spending time with Toby and your cousins.”
“Maybe I should. And maybe you should be spending time with…” Patrick rolled his hand in a fill-in-the-blank gesture.
“My family is really just me and my parents.”
“And friends?”
Emma looked uncomfortable. “Not a lot of those, to be honest. I move a lot.”
Something about the way she said that made Patrick want to wrap his arms around her and pull her to his chest. But since that probably wouldn’t be the right move, he settled for changing the subject.
As the night rolled on, Emma seemed to relax and open up more and more. By the time the fire had died down to embers and cool air had started to seep in around the edges of the blanket they shared, Emma had mentioned a few stories from her childhood and her college days. She was vague on the specifics, but Patrick still soaked up each detail and stored it away. He found even the smallest details about her fascinating.
“And that was the first and last time I ever tried red velvet cake,” Emma finished.
Patrick chuckled. “I don’t think they’re always made with beets, but I do understand why that experience put you off red velvet cakes for good.”
“Vegetables just don’t belong in desserts. Especially not at an eight-year-old’s birthday party.”
“Did you and the birthday girl stay friends?”
“For a while, but my family moved again about six months later and we fell out of touch. It’s hard to be a reliable pen pal when you’re eight.”
“Fair enough.”
They sat in companionable silence and watched the embers pulse with the last remnants of the fire. Then Emma stifled a yawn. Patrick wasn’t tired in the least, not with such an attractive woman who was so easy to talk to by his side, but his protective instincts rose up at the thought that she might need some rest.
“Should we get you home?” he asked her.
Emma looked up at him. Her brown eyes glowed with the last of the firelight and her cheeks were flushed, perhaps with a touch of cold. She opened her mouth, then closed it.
“I… It’s been a lovely evening. I’m not sure I quite want it to end.”
Patrick felt happiness course through him at her words. He didn’t quite want the evening to end, either.
“What would you like to do instead?” His voice was low.
Emma leaned fractionally closer. “What do you have in mind?”
Enough playing games. Patrick knew exactly what he had in mind.
