Page 27 of Hers By Summer’s End

Affectionately,

Your Sweetheart.

August 27, 1909

1 day until Cactus Dahlia Day

“That shameless geezer wants to steal my prize.”

Cecelia glanced up from her sandwich in time to see Mr. Sutton snatch his ornate silver loving cup from the dining table, hug it to his chest, and glare suspiciously over her left shoulder.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Drew began.

“Who does?” Her mother interrupted, twisting subtly in her rolling chair to inspect the dining room at Michel’s Roast Beef.

“The one with the dyed eyebrows walking this way,” Mr. Sutton whispered theatrically. “As if that would convince the judges he was the Most Sprightly instead of taking part in the foot race.”

The accused gentleman, flanked by two younger family members, slowed as he neared their table, his gaze lingering on the trophy.

“See?” Mr. Sutton crowed. “Covetousness.”

“Impudence,” Mother added.

Cecelia ducked her head behind her glass of iced lemonade to hide a smile. Beside her, Drew caught her eye—perhaps for the twelfth time that afternoon—and gave an exaggerated roll of his own.

The easy friendship between their family members still astonished her. Mother had cheered for Mr. Sutton during the contest as if she had known him for years. Mr. Sutton had immediately decided Mother was one of the finest women he’d ever met. They had spent the remainder of the day chatting, laughing, and very obviously arranging opportunities for Cecelia and Drew to fall behind them by several paces. It was endearing and natural and just real enough to make Cecelia want to believe it could always be this way.

She had already risked more of her heart than she ever could have expected: that electrifying intimacy in the greenhouse, the teasing letters that followed, the way she and Drew kept finding excuses to brush hands when no one was looking. She had been trying—quite deliberately—to believe this was becoming something real.

Still, some treacherous corner of her mind waited for the joke to reveal itself: Got you, Cecelia. Perhaps Drew would eventually admit that all this wooing was simply part of their bargain. A splendid performance for everyone watching while they battled through the Cactus Dahlia competition.

His boot tapped hers beneath the table, and she roused herself from her thoughts. He sent her a sly wink, and longing nearly stole her breath. Oh God, she hoped it was real. That whatever was growing between them might survive beyond the next two days. That these feelings she had for Drew—feelings she now realized had lain dormant for years, never allowed to see the light of day because they had always been impossible and scary—could be allowed to grow.

“He’s gone,” Mr. Sutton announced, setting his trophy down with an unsteady clang. Drew caught it before it toppled. “Thank you, sonny. Must be getting a bit tired.”

“I should say so,” Cecelia said at once, grateful for the distraction. “The contest alone took all morning.”

“And we spent an entire afternoon in the Fine Arts Building pretending we knew what we were looking at,” Drew added with a chuckle.

“The merits of El Greco, Corot and Sargent don’t weigh themselves,” Mr. Sutton insisted. Cecelia smiled at the memory of his rather harsh verdicts on the paintings—alarming, boring, and better, but who would pay that much for some lady you don’t know?

“We were very worldly,” Mother added, patting Mr. Sutton’s forearm. “What say we retrieve the carriage from the livery and head home?”

“A sound plan,” he replied, settling his hand over hers.

“We’ll all go,” Drew said, pushing his chair out.

“I’ll gather our things.” Cecelia reached for the bag at her feet containing the day’s souvenirs.

“Nonsense,” Mr. Sutton said. “I wouldn’t dream of asking you to leave before Miss Cecelia has seen the fireworks.”

Drew paused, mid-rise. “But you’ll need my assistance.”

“My driver can manage,” Mother interrupted. “He was hired both for his ability to drive and to assist,” she added, as if the matter were settled. And by the resolute look on her and Mr. Sutton’s face, it was.

Drew glanced at Cecelia, and she lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug. If they were so eager to play matchmaker, why fight them? Besides, she wanted nothing more than to have more time with Drew.

“We’ll escort you to the livery,” Drew finally said.