“Good heavens,” Thomas exclaimed, watching as she laid out an array of food.
“Consider this a feast for the soul,” Joy announced, patting the blanket beside her. “And for the stomach, naturally.”
Thomas settled down beside her. As he took a bite of a sandwich, he realized how different this was from the stilted luncheons he was accustomed to.
“Delicious,” he admitted, reaching for a plump strawberry next. Its sweetness burst upon his tongue, unadorned and perfect. “Is this going to be a weekly thing? Or just this once?”
Joy watched, a soft chuckle escaping her as Thomas’s eyes widened with each new taste. “Weekly,” she said with a grin. “I think there’s a certain charm to eating with your hands—I prefer it.”
“I suppose,” Thomas replied. Juice dribbled down his chin, and he laughed—a clear, unburdened sound that mingled with the breeze. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, looking boyish. “Who would have thought?” Thomas mused. “The simplicity of a picnic could be as good as a restaurant meal.”
“I like simpler things,” Joy said, her eyes mirroring the blue above them.
“Joy, you’re an astonishing woman,” Thomas confessed. “You turn what I know on its head, yet somehow, it all makes sense.”
She reached over to snag a pastry, breaking it in half to share. “Life is too short for always making sense,” she teased. “Sometimes standing on your head is what it takes to make the world interesting.”
“Interesting,” he echoed, savoring the flaky sweetness of the pastry mixed with her infectious laughter. “That’s one word for it.”
“Only one?” Joy feigned a gasp. “Thomas Worthington, I shall have to work harder to expand your vocabulary.”
“Please do,” he grinned. “I suspect you’ll be most educational.”
As they lay side by side, Joy was at peace. His garden was as big as her father’s wheat field, and it was just like being at home.
Later at an opulent restaurant, Joy looked at the perfectly laid out place settings and the white linen tablecloths and napkins.
“Thomas, I don’t even know which fork to use first,” she whispered.
“Start from the outside and work your way in,” Thomas advised with an encouraging smile. “And remember, if all else fails, follow my lead.”
The first course arrived, looking more like art than food. Joy hesitated, then sampled a tentative bite, her expression morphing from uncertainty to surprise. “That’s…actually quite delicious!”
“Just try everything,” Thomas suggested.
“Is this what you eat every day?” Joy asked, her eyes wide as more dishes were presented, each more intricate than the last. She could never eat such fancy foods for every meal.
“Only when trying to impress,” Thomas replied. “Although, I must confess, your picnic spread was every bit as impressive in its own right.”
“Flattery will get you another sandwich, Mr. Worthington,” Joy teased, her confidence growing. With Thomas’s gentle guidance, she found herself savoring flavors she never knew existed.
“Joy, you make everything fun,” Thomas said. “To new experiences and the company that makes them unforgettable.”
“I’ll do my best to bring all thejoyI can to your life,” Joy said.
In that moment, surrounded by the sophisticated elegance of Boston’s elite, Thomas realized that true joy—his Joy—could turn any situation into an adventure.
After dinner, Thomas gave Joy two pieces of paper. “What are these?” she asked.
“We’re going to the theater this evening,” he said. “I thought it would be a nice change from all the work you do with the orphans.”
The theater was a marvel of velvet and gold. As they settled into their plush seats, Joy glanced around, wide-eyed.
“Is it always this…grand?” she whispered, leaning close to Thomas so only he could hear.
“Only on nights when I bring someone special,” he replied.
The curtain rose, and the stage came alive in a whirlwind of drama and comedy. Joy found herself swept up in the story, her laughter ringing clear and bright one moment, her hand clutching at Thomas’s sleeve the next, as tears threatened to spill.
