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eighteen
Picnic Confessions
“Idefinitely picked you for a picnic-in-the-park girl.” Emmett says, smiling as he sits across from me.
I smile back at him, helpless to his charms. “What do you mean by that?” The stern note in my voice rings false, even to my own ears. I’m a romantic, as he well knows, and there is just something about a picnic that checks all my boxes. The intimate setting. The beautiful scenery. The gorgeous glow the sun provides as it dips lower towards the horizon.
“It just fits your personality type. You are…” he looks away as if searching for the right words, before finally settling on, “such a genuine person. You’re happy being exactly who you are. That’s a rare thing these days, and I hope you never lose that.” I’m not sure if it’s his words that have my heart beating just a little faster or if it’s just being this close to him. The air between us seems thick and electrified as all the words we leave unsaid hang between us. Before I can remember how to make my mouth move, he looks away, scrambling for a lighter topic. “Ah, but everything looks nice.”
I grit my teeth to keep from frowning at his abrupt change of subject. I would give anything to know what had closed this man down so much that at the first sign of any meaningful conversation, he has to shut down entirely. But despite agreeing to be my inside woman, Millie wouldn’t tell me what his hang up is. She said he would need to tell me when he’s ready, and I know she’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I could ask now, but I’m not ready to get into the heavy stuff so early into the date so I just nod and let him change the subject. Looking down at my handiwork, I admit he’s right. It does look nice. Millie and I had pulled out every stop to make this date as perfect as possible. The beautiful red-and-white checked tablecloth that I most definitely did not pick up specifically just for today. The cute wicker basket I loaded down with a variety of cold cut sandwiches and fresh fruits and veggies.
It looks good, if I do say so myself. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure what type of sandwich you’d like, so to be safe, I packed everything.” Millie wasn’t much help in the meal planning department. When probed, she admitted that her brother likes sandwiches, but she couldn’t remember a specific preference.
I tuck my hair behind my ear, a self-conscious mechanism I never did manage to quell. Even with this man having seen me at my lowest points, a part of me is still nervous to be here, on an actual date with him. Especially after our last date. Where we had both been upfront about our situations. Sitting with him now, it just seems impossible that I could ever convince a man like Emmett to fall in love with me. But I’m going to try.
My palms are slick with sweat, and I discreetly rub them on my jeans when he isn’t looking. The air between us seems suffocating. And I’m hyper aware of Emmett’s every move and reaction. I’m not hungry, but my stomach flutters with nerves. I don’t want to do something dumb and mess this up before it can even begin. Like accidentally feeding him something he’s allergic to and sending him to the hospital with a swollen face. Shit, I didn’t ask about allergies.
He’s reaching for the sandwich, his hand seeming to move in slow motion as he still watches me with that slight smile on his face.
Oh, no. What did I put in the sandwiches again? Ham? Are people allergic to ham? My heart slams a drum beat in my chest as a highlight reel of the rest of our evening flashes in my mind. His fingertips graze a foil wrapped sandwich, and the tension escalates even further. Without thinking, my hand shoots out and smacks Emmett’s hand away from the food.
“Ow, what was that for?” Emmett watches me with equal parts amusement and surprise. I surprised myself, too, but there’s nothing to be done about that now. I’ll just ask him about allergies, and we can get on with the meal after that.
My face flames with embarrassment and my throat seems too tight to release words, but I force them past my lips. “Ah, yes. Uh, allergies. I forgot to ask about allergies.” If he notices the croaky quality of my voice, he’s nice enough not to mention it. Not nice enough to hold in the full belly laugh, though. Annoyance replaces my embarrassment as I say “Hardy-har-har. I’m just trying to make sure you won’t die from anything I’ve prepared, but yes, let’s make it a comedy show.”
Tears leak from the corners of his eyes by the time he’s finally gotten himself under control and I really want to continue being mad, but one endearing look from his gorgeous dark gaze and any mirth is long forgotten. “I’m sorry. I’m really not laughing at you. And, as luck would have it, I’m not allergic to anything.” He unwraps and inspects the sandwich. “So, I won’t collapse from this turkey and swiss. Okay?”
Relieved, and still slightly embarrassed, I just nod and grab my own sandwich—this one is the ham—and begin nibbling on it. Not because I’m hungry, but more to have something to do with my mouth so I don’t embarrass myself further.
“And Charley,” he waits until I meet his eyes again before he continues, “please don’t ever change who you are.”
Our gaze holds for a few seconds too long, and I swear I can see physical sparks lighting up the air between us, but it’s broken when he turns his attention back to his sandwich.
We’re both quiet for a few minutes as each of us busy ourselves with our simple but satisfying meal, and I can’t help but ruminate over how truly amazing this man is. How is it that someone like Emmett isn’t married yet? And just how is it that he’s so against love? He’s a sweet and sexy swoon-worthy hero, just like those I’ve read about. Before I think better of it, I hear myself voicing my question aloud. “Emmett, why don’t you believe in love?”
His eyes widen at that, but he doesn’t speak yet. Polishing off the rest of his sandwich, he leans back on the tablecloth, his black button-up shirt straining against his shoulders as he twines his hands behind his head to look up at the sky. I nearly forget my question as I take in the perfect lines of his body and the way the soft breeze ruffles his hair just so. The breeze that blows his alluring, woodsy scent in my direction, I hold back a groan, but only just barely. My concentration on his too-perfect physique is broken when he finally speaks. “I used to. I was married before, actually. For all of a few hours.”
Shock has me refocusing my attention from the inch of tanned abdomen that’s exposed as he lays back to his face. A few hours? “What happened?” My voice is low, nearly a whisper, but he hears it.
“We were high school sweethearts. I was smitten from the very first moment I saw her, but she never looked my way until sophomore year. I’d had girlfriends before, plenty of them,” he shrugs a musclebound shoulder at the honest admission. “But none of them had ever mattered before her.” He sighs then, a long, dramatic exhalation that pulls at the hem of his shirt some more, exposing another inch of smooth, tanned skin. “We knew we would be together forever. There was no questioning or hesitation. We knew we would get married, buy a house, and settle down with two-point-five kids. I was going to run the bar with Cash. She wanted to go to a local college and get a degree in art history. She always wanted to work in a museum. We had our entire lives planned out.”
His tone is soft and slow as he struggles through the story. His use of the past tense breaks my heart for him, and I almost want to tell him to stop. Not to finish because I’m not sure I want to hear it anymore. But I swallow back my own sorrow and maneuver myself so I can lay down next to him and offer my silent support. He lived through the tragedy, the least I can do is be here for him as he tells me his story. The left side of my body grazes the right side of his. Positioning my arms behind my head mirroring his pose, I stare to the sky and say, “what happened?”
He's silent for so long that I begin to think he’s not going to finish after all. Emmett is the very definition of closed off and it’s clear to see how hard this is for him to re-live. But eventually he does. “We got married in May. She chose the date. She wanted it close enough to summer to be warm but not too hot to be married outside. That was important to her. She loved the outdoors. And flowers. Roses were her favorite,” he’s rambling, but I don’t stop him. It’s all I can do to keep from reaching out for his hand, but I don’t want to interrupt him. So, I just lay back, hoping my presence provides him with some comfort as he continues listing the details of the wedding. “You know we fought the night before over the napkins?” He laughs wryly, but continues on, “she was upset that the napkins we had ordered for the reception were delayed and I couldn’t understand why it mattered. It didn’t matter. The napkins, that is. Our venue substituted them out for something in a similar shade and the wedding went on as planned. We met each other at the end of the aisle and pledged to love each other in sickness and in health. Til death do us part.” He’s silent then. It’s an eerie silence and I find myself wanting to fill it. I’m not sure with what, though. It’s obvious why he doesn’t want anything to do with love ever again. I can feel his heartbreak from here, pulsating in the air around us.
“Emmett,” my voice is a whisper. I don’t know what I’m going to say, I just know I need to say something. Only words don’t seem to be enough in this situation. I make my living with words, but none of them seem sufficient for what this man has gone through.
“We vowed not to part until death, but I had assumed that would be fifty or more years in the future. We were young and in love. We had our entire lives ahead of us. Only she didn’t.” His voice chokes as the tears begin to fall. He doesn’t move to brush them away and I’m not even sure he realizes he’s crying. “She died, Charley. And it’s my fault. She had been complaining of a headache for a few days, but I just assumed it was the stress of the wedding. Things like the damn napkins not arriving on time. I ignored the signs that were right in front of my face. Until she collapsed.”
He doesn’t look at me. He’s still staring at the skyline with tears steadily dripping down his face as he says, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. I usually don’t talk about it. To be completely honest, I avoid talking about it at all costs. It’s the reason I abandoned my plans to run the business alongside Cash and left town. Joined the military just to get as far away from her memory as I could. I knew it was the wrong decision when I made it, but I just needed time away.” I feel tears stinging at the corners of my eyes, but I don’t release them. He doesn’t need my sympathy. He just needs me to hear him. He still hasn’t looked my way and he’s silent for long enough that I start to think he’s done speaking when he starts again. “I still helped with the bar from afar. Financially and I worked there during any time I had off. We always knew I would eventually come back here, but I think we were all surprised by how long it took. I made excuse after excuse. Really, I was just avoiding anything that reminded me of Maria.” He chuckles, but there’s nothing humorous about it. “I finally got tired of running away and came home.”
I don’t know what to say to soothe him. So, I don’t say anything at all. I snuggle into his side, and we just enjoy the soft breeze caressing our faces as we watch the clouds glide along the sky.
“Charley,” his gravelly voice breaks the surrounding silence and I tilt my head to him.
“Thank you,” he says, and I can’t speak around the lump in my throat, so I just nod.
nineteen
