“No judgment.” His eyes say he is, in fact, judging me.
I drop a paper sack into my saddle bag and mount Buttercup. With a little encouragement we begin to walk the horses. Sterling settles quickly, looking a bit more at ease, so I increase my pace. Ember, who started life as a child’s training horse—a fact I kept to myself— follows my lead.
Even now, despite his scowl, being with Sterling feels natural. Right. Our relationship is moving from one pace to the next smoothly. I only hope it survives me taking him horseback riding.
The land on the rest of the estate is a mix of rolling hills and valleys. I fall into a trot beside him and we ride quietly until we can no longer see the stables or the rest of Windfall. After a few more minutes, we reach my favorite spot. It’s mostly an open field, too far from the house to be tended. There’s no grass, just a clover field and thousands of yellow wildflowers growing freely. Slowing Buttercup, I dismount and grab her reins. Sterling won’t let me help him down. I pretend to focus intensely on tying the reins to a tree and not on his awkward descent.
“What do you think?” I ask, pulling a blanket out of Buttercup’s saddle bag and spreading it on the ground.
“I’d make a shitty cowboy,” he says truthfully.
I laugh before I can stop myself, covering my mouth when I realize that I actually am laughing at the idea of him as a cowboy and not his joke. But Sterling isn’t angry. He’s watching me with strange eyes I can’t quite read. Then he kisses me.
I’m beginning to anticipate these sudden outbursts of affection, even if I don’t know what I do to deserve them. If I did, I might spend all my time triggering this reaction, because kissing Sterling is all I want to do. Well, that and other things, even if we haven’t gotten there yet.
When he pulls away, his hand stays on the back of my neck and his eyes blaze. I swear he could burn me alive just looking at me like that. I force myself to turn away before he does. Pulling the paper bag out, I hold it up. “It’s starting to get chilly. I figured it might be our last chance for a picnic.”
“A picnic?” he repeats.
I don’t know if it’s a test or if he just thinks this is dumb. I default to the latter as a means of self preservation. “Food. Blanket. Eating outside. Having fun.”
“I know what a picnic is.” He snatches the bag from my hand and drops onto the blanket.
“Well, you acted like I was speaking in tongues,” I complain. So he does think this is stupid. Maybe I’m trying too hard to see Sterling as some romantic figure like Mr. Darcy or Heathcliff.
He reaches up and pulls me into his lap. “Don’t be mad, Lucky.”
I can’t help pouting. Not if he’s going to respond to it. “You were teasing me.”
“I’ll tell you a secret.” He tucks my hair behind my ear and whispers, “I’ve never been on a picnic. That’s why I was surprised.”
“You’ve…what?” I’ve done it again. I’m losing count of the number of times I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth with him.
“City kid, remember?” he says nonchalantly, but he keeps his head turned from mine. He’s missed out on a lot in his life, and it’s not all because of growing up in New York.
“It’s a stupid Southern thing, I bet. We love our picnics and sweet tea and pageantry.” I shrug like I’m over it.
Sterling sees right through me. “It’s okay. You don’t have to feel sorry for me.”
“I hate that I always say the wrong thing,” I confess. I’m not exactly sure when I started caring what he thought. Mostly, because I find myself caring so much now that I can’t remember a time before I did.
“Make it up to me?” He picks a yellow flower and sticks it behind my ear.
“Anything,” I breathe. This close to him, his arms around my waist, sitting in his lap, I’m overwhelmed. I’d do anything he asks.
“Take me on my first picnic?” He kisses the tip of my nose.
“You’re an easy date,” I tease.
“You have no idea how easy I can be,” he says, and I feel him pressing hard against my butt. “I can show you though.”
“Mr. Ford, I’m a lady.” I pretend to be offended but only to cover how fast my heart begins to beat. We’ve kissed. A lot. And maybe it’s bad luck but every time we start to round a corner, he stops. Sometimes Cyrus comes home. Sometimes he says he’s tired.
“Is that so?” He kisses me until I’m breathless.
It takes me a moment to recover. “I suffered through a debutante ball to prove it.”
“That sounds dangerous.” He’s trying not to laugh.
“Two petticoats and a dress that weighed like thirty pounds,” I say sourly. “It was.”
“I will never question your propriety again.” He draws a cross over his heart.
“Believe me, I’d rather be in the stables with the horses.”
“There’s a whole world between blue jeans and ballgowns, Lucky. It’s just waiting for us.” His words are more than a promise. They’re an invitation. I settle against him and begin to play our game.
“Twenty-five,” I prompt him. We’d come up with it accidentally after the first evening we spent talking. I’m not the only one who wants to travel. One of us names an age and we decide where we’ll go for our birthdays.
“Australia,” he answers.
I’ve been to half the places he lists but thinking about going with him makes it feel like a brand new adventure.
“The outback?” I ask.
“Great barrier reef,” he says. “I just have to learn to snorkel.”
I stop myself before I can express surprise that he’s never snorkeled. I’m getting better at this.
“You?” he prompts.
“Yorkshire,” I say. I tend to be more specific with my
