Page 98
He beamed at her. They kept wandering along the trail, higher up the hill, passing by a little creek and a small waterfall. She stopped to listen to the melody of the water moving and swirling and rushing down.
“If you keep going left here, it leads to a sunflower field,” Grayson said, pointing. “None are in bloom yet obviously, but they will be soon.”
He checked his phone and quickly typed a message, ears going red. She gave him a curious look, and he put his phone away, leading her in the opposite direction. Finally, they entered a clearing where a picnic was waiting on a checked blanket.
“Aw, look, this is so sweet!” Lucy said, showing Grayson. “I wonder who it’s for.”
He laughed out loud. “Luce, this is for you.”
She gawked at him. “Really?”
“Yes, silly girl.”
“But you were with me the whole time!”
Grayson smiled, leading her to the picnic setup. “I prepared everything before I went to pick you up, and Mateo kept watch for me until we got here. Not too long ago I texted him so he could head out.”
Her heart skipped a beat. All the planning he had done …
“This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” she said, voice thick. “Thank you.”
She squealed, clapping, and plopped down on the blanket, stroking the fabric. It was clear on his face that he was pleased to see her so happy as he settled down next to her, unpacking the food he’d made: sandwiches, scones with jam and butter (“I can’t find any clotted cream here!”), chocolate chip cookies, and lemonade.
“I know it’s a bit early in the year for a picnic,” he said, pulling out a blanket. “So in case you get cold.”
“No, I absolutely LOVE it,” she said, shifting to sit closer to him.
“Good.” He swallowed. “I’m glad.”
They ate and talked, and he told her how his parents had loved doing stuff like this.
“I have a question,” she said, interrupting him. “Why is your last name Crawley if that was your mom’s last name?”
“Ah. That.” Grayson ran a hand over his face. “Well, when I was eighteen, I changed my last name from McEvoy—my dad’s family name—to Crawley because I didn’t want to be connected to my uncle, who made it clear he was washing his hands clean of me now that I was old enough.”
“Why didn’t you come to New York?” Lucy asked. “To Charles and Sophie?”
Grayson looked away, clenching his jaw. He didn’t reply. Whatever the reason, it was causing him pain to think of.
He cleared his throat. “What about your last name?” he asked. “Isn’t your mom Pakistani?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I used to be Lucy Ansari-Reynolds, but I took my dad’s last name off when I was a teenager because I wanted to be closer to my mom’s heritage, hoping it would bring me closer to her. This was during the phase when I was trying to learn Urdu. Again, it didn’t accomplish much, but the paperwork was such a headache the first time that I never changed it back.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “They don’t really approve of what I’m doing with my life, so it’s not exactly like I’m bringing honor to the family name. Maybe if I was doing something important … but I just can’t bring myself to. I’d be miserable.”
He furrowed his brows. “You are doing something important, even if they can’t see it,” he said. “Your small kindnesses make big differences in people’s lives. Maybe you aren’t curing brain diseases, but books change lives, too. Don’t forget that. Think of how they’ve changed your life.”
“Thank you for saying that,” she said, feeling warm.
She looked at him then, just looked. He was so kind, so nice. She really did like him an awful lot—too much, probably. This would only end in heartbreak, and she cared about keeping her heart safe. Still, she might care about him more.
They continued talking and finished eating. When the air grew chilly, they shared the blanket, keeping each other warm as they watched the sunset over the pond. As night fell, they packed up, her magic making quick work of it, and headed back to his car.
After he put everything away, Grayson paused.
“Wait— Will you dance with me?” he asked. His face was open and vulnerable, beautiful. “Please, Luce.”
