Page 6 of Romantic

Even though he actually owns Bumble Cottage, Edward is currently living in the Norland Park Hotel while overseeing our first stage of improvements. It didn’t sit well with him to kick the Greenwoods out of their home, especially since he was head over heels for Elinor. So we made a deal where I, as the owner of the park, would pay their rent and make it part of Elinor’s compensation as park manager. Edward and Elinor have now been dating for nearly a year, and I would bet good money that their engagement will be announced any day. When that happens, the newlyweds will surely want to set up house in Bumble Cottage, but I wonder where Annie and her mom will go then. Annie said she was looking for a job, possibly outside of Big Sur. I run my hand over her rusty 2006 white Honda Accord that she named Shadowfax. That’s another one of Annie’s endearing traits; she names everything. From trees to wildlife to inanimate objects. She often says you can’t love something until you know its name. And Annie loves most things.

Poor Shadowfax has seen better days. Duct tape secures both side-view mirrors, and the driver’s side door no longer opens. Annie has to scoot in and out from the passenger side. What I really want to give Annie for her birthday is a new car with all-wheel drive. I’d sleep so much better if she were no longer driving this relic on the windy, rain-slicked roads. But if a ring is too big of a gift from a friend, a car is definitely off limits.

I want to give Annie everything. But first, I need to ask her out. I don’t even know how to begin. The tricky part will be getting a moment alone with her. I can’t ask her out in front of an audience. Not because I’m afraid—even though I am—but because asking her in front of a crowd will put too much pressure on her to say yes.

I grab the folding table and carry it to the garden, my talent for overthinking in full drive. Annie and I are friends. We’ve spent entire days together. We’ve been hiking, swimming, kayaking, shopping. Pepper and I have had dinner at her house a dozen times. But until today, we’ve maintained a wall of platonic friendship. We never touch, and it feels like an unspoken rule. It actually takes a lot of effort to not accidentally touch or brush up against someone when you spend as much time together as we do. The only exception are the hugs we give when saying hello and goodbye. I live for those hugs.

But today feels different . . . her hand on my chest . . . her fingers brushing my beard. I can’t stop wondering if maybe those touches meant something to her—they certainly have messed with my head.

“That’s perfect!” Annie hollers to me from the wraparound porch as I set up the table between the beds of flowers. She leans over the white railing, looking as if she wandered out of a painting. Her head is crowned with a wreath of white flowers and trailing green leaves, and her red curls are flying in the coastal breeze as she runs down the steps to meet me. “Now for the tablecloth.” She hands me a lace tablecloth, her hand brushing against mine. More touching. The rules are definitely changing. Together we shake out the tablecloth. It billows in the air before it lands on the table. “Now be a darling and get the duchess for me?” Annie’s referring to an ornate high-backed chair in their living room. “Since I’m wearing a crown, I think I need a throne.” Normally, I’d tease Annie, say something about her acting as spoiled as royalty, but all this touching and the anticipation of potentially asking her out in a few short hours has me second guessing myself. I’d rather stay quiet than say the wrong thing. I give a curt nod and head inside to get the chair which, not surprisingly, has a stack of well-loved books resting on it.

When I return, Edward is in the garden chatting with Annie. She notices me immediately and directs me right where I should set the Duchess. “I had you do that,” she says putting her hand on my arm, “because you’re the strongest and that chair is much heavier than she looks.”

“She’s made of oak,” I say. “One of the heavier woods.”

“How do you know that?”

“I do some woodworking.”

“Why didn’t I know that?”

“He made me the coolest Narnia room,” Pepper says as she arranges small vases of flowers down the center of the table. “You walk through a wardrobe into my own secret room. I told you all about it.”

“You did,” said Annie. “I just didn’t know that Bran—” she looks at me, and there’s some new awareness on her face. “Um . . . your dad built it.”

“You should come see it,” says Pepper.

“I’d like that.” Annie looks at me pointedly. And this is the moment I should ask her out, but . . . words escape me.

“Um . . . well . . . you’re welcome . . . any time.”

Annie looks down and smiles to herself. “That’s good. Maybe sometime soon?”

“Yeah. That could . . .” I begin. My mind races trying to decide if inviting Annie to my place for dinner would count as a date. It feels like our first date shouldn’t include Pepper. If it did, how would we distinguish it from all our previous outings together?

“Hey, you!” Annie interrupts my thoughts. She’s now standing right next to me. “I lost you there.” She places her hand on my forearm. And now I’ve completely lost my train of thought. My whole existence is reduced to the sensation of Annie’s fingers feathering my arm and her green eyes peering into mine. “You okay?” she asks in a soft, sweet voice.

“Yeah, sorry, just a lot to think about.”

“You need to stop worrying about business. I know the perfect way to distract you. Edward can bring out the rest of the chairs while I put flowers in your beard.”

Yeah, that will definitely distract me.

“Flowers in his beard?” Edward asks with the appropriate amount of bewilderment.

“Yes—it’s all I want for my birthday,” Annie says as she casually clasps my hand. Let me repeat: Annie Greenwood just reached for my hand and twined her fingers through mine like hand holding is something the two of us do all the time. Like a man in a trance, I follow her to the kitchen.

“Did Brandon really agree to you putting flowers in his beard?” Maggie asks with surprise as Annie releases my hand, directing me to a stool by the kitchen counter.

“No, but he will. He can’t say no to me on my birthday.” She gives me a saucy smile.

“Or any day,” I mutter as she sorts through the flowers on the counter. There are two more flower crowns and a boutonniere.

“Is the boutonniere for Edward?” I ask.

“I didn’t want him to feel left out. He can’t do a flower beard.”

“You could always make me a boutonniere,” I suggest.