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Twenty-Three
“You look amazing.”Blaine stood with Emilia outside her front door and placed a tentative kiss on her lightly blushed cheek.
Her soft floral scent matched her coy smile. To be fair, so much rode on this date, his face probably betrayed the same nerves.
“It’s a miracle I got ready in time.” She took his hand, and he led her to his waiting truck. “Aggie had some super-urgent, last-minute thing to do and called me to fill in at the nursery. I only arrived home a little while ago.”
“Good thing you made it.” He opened the passenger door and helped her in. “I know this isn’t exactly a horse-drawn carriage, but I promise the date gets better from here.”
She chuckled, squeezing his hand, all while he damn-well hoped the date “got better.” He’d waited ten long years for this day, emotionally invested the second she’d agreed to give this reunion a chance. So yeah, there wasn’t a great deal of room for error.
She flattened out the flared skirt on her pale pink dress. He closed her door, rounding the truck in his tan chinos and sky-blue sweater, a white t-shirt poking from atop the V-shaped collar. The outfit was more than a few steps up from his usual sawdust-covered flannels.
“So, where are we going?” Emilia blinked at him while he climbed into the driver's seat, the low tilt of her chin setting forth a challenge. One that said, I have high hopes for this date too.
He presented a smile, though his stomach churned. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
“Because I wanted a surprise?”
“Regretting that choice already?” He backed out of her drive.
The warm evening air flowed through his open window and brushed along his arms and face, carrying with it the grassy scent of the sun-heated fields. Meanwhile, Emilia’s face still held a great deal of strain.
He reached out and placed a hand over hers on her knee, allowing the breathtaking scenery to work its magic, to melt away any lingering first-date jitters.
I keep telling myself that being around you is one huge mistake, but for all the risks, I don’t want to stay away.
As much as he wanted to purely revel in the beauty of those words and what they meant, a menacing sort of omen hid in the middle. A warning that refused to let him go.
But for all the risks…
What risks?
He wanted to believe she referred to the usual perils of falling in love, or more precisely, getting her heart broken; for some reason, he doubted that. Maybe because he’d known her.
At one time, Emilia had been the sort of woman to throw herself all in. She’d been big on emotions and fearless toward love. Something had changed. She’d already mentioned there was more to her story than he knew.
“So, how’s the new garden?” He asked the question, vowing to shelve his suspicions, and at the same time acknowledging his right to feel safe too. Maybe he wouldn’t press for too much information just yet, but eventually, he wanted answers.
“There are new shoots and flowers each day, and so far, nothing has died. I can’t complain. Though”—she turned to him, a mischievous grin lighting those large doe-eyes of hers—“while the garden might be coming along, I can’t say the same for the inside of my house. There’s this guy who was meant to complete the work on my kitchen, but…”
She shook her head and let out a dramatic sigh, not bothering to complete that sentence.
He laughed, glad for her more easy-going approach. “Sorry about that. From what I hear, he got caught up saving a damsel in distress.”
He omitted the part about that same damsel booting him from her house, cornering his ex, and getting wasted off a measly few drinks. No point in stirring up old mud, right?
“Are you sure she wasn’t just trying to hold back production?” Though her smile held, her cheeks flushed. “You know, making excuses to keep him around?”
He squeezed his hand over hers, heart shifting at her endearing admission. “Pitching herself off ladders was the wrong way to go about that. All she has to do was ask.”
Blaine steered the truck around a corner, the sky darkening, its sapphire peak fading down to a fiery orange horizon. “Do you see that?” He slowed down and pointed at a small tin shed to her right; behind it stretched a sea of purple flowers.
“Is that lavender?” Her voice pitched upwards, suggesting the surprise element of this date might work out after all.
He turned the wheel again and steered down a narrow driveway leading into the field, vivid color and fragrance answering her question. Aggie stepped into view from beside the shed, waving her hand in an unneeded effort to gain his attention.
Emilia turned to him, brow raised in an expression that asked, What did you do?
