“That might be nice, actually,” he says, grinning again. He stands up quickly, practically bouncing off the dock with enthusiasm. Bending back down, he extends a hand to me.
Taking his offering, I pull myself up to a stand. “Thanks.”
Wade lifts his arm, twirling me in a circle on the spot. “You are most welcome, Ms. Blackwood.”
Unable to help myself, a small smile lifts the corner of my lips.
Wade locks eyes with me long enough to make me squirm under his silver scrutiny.
Without batting an eye, his features soften and he whispers, “God, you’re so beautiful. I love the way the sunlight ignites your hair. It’s like the sun is setting in those strands.” Grinning broadly, he twirls a finger through one of my unruly auburn curls.
I run a hand across my collar bone, wishing like hell I could find a way to change what we are. “Wade, I have something—”
He holds up a finger, pressing it to my lips. “Eh, eh…nope. Me first.” Removing his finger, he shrugs sheepishly. “I mean, I know it should usually be ladies first, but you’ll just have to deal this time, Dru.” He winks at me, sending a wave of anguish cascading through my entire being.
My lips tighten and my mouth goes dry. Nodding, I raise a hand, allowing him to proceed.
“Actually, you’ll need to come with me,” he says, his eyes once again sparkling. He takes my hand, leading the way off the dock.
Confusion rolls through me but I can’t seem to muster enough energy to formulate a reason for his near-giddy excitement. Instead, I fight the bile rising in the back of my throat and the unrelenting nervous energy. I know if I don’t act soon, I’ll lose my nerve altogether. Instead, I’ll want to stay in his arms and ignore the pain and suffering being together will inevitably bring.
As we walk through the courtyard hand-in-hand, he plucks one of the red roses from the garden and hands it to me. “But he, who dares not grasp the thorn, should never crave the rose.”
Pressing the stem between my fingertips, I tip my head in acknowledgment. “Anne Brontë.”
“Indeed,” he beams. “One of my favorite poems.”
“Hmmm,” I say, staring at the shimmering petals, wondering if he can somehow sense what’s on my mind.
Leaning in, he kisses the side of my cheek. His scent teases my senses, lulling me into a safe space.
Maybe it’s not as bad as I think… What if I’m wrong about all of this?
Inhaling deeply, my resolve slips.
Removing my hand from his, I place it along his jawline, drawing his lips to mine. For the first time in a long time, I close my eyes, letting the feel of his skin guide my reactions, rather than relying on my troubled mind.
Placing both hands along my neck, he inhales sharply, pulling me in close. His lips bear down on mine, kissing me as if his life depends on this single exchange of passion.
As he pulls back, my head swirls, but my worries sink into deeper waters.
“Come on, let’s get that bite to eat. I still have something for you…” he says, grabbing hold of my hand and pulling me toward the kitchen’s entrance.
When we get inside, the manor is quiet—as it has been all summer. Dad’s been in and out, only here for the briefest of moments before having to flit off again. There’s barely enough time to connect, let alone ask him how he’s been or where he’s been going.
Most of the time, it’s not so bad, but I can’t help but wonder if I’m driving him away, too.
“What would you like, my dearest Dru? Pasta? Chicken? Tacos with ice cream?” Wade asks, opening the fridge and freezer at the same time.
I chuckle. “What would you like?”
“I’m not fussy. I’ll cook whatever the lady of the house would appreciate.”
I shoot him an uncertain smile, dropping my gaze to the floor. “Something simple, I guess.”
Wade’s dark eyebrows rise to the sky, and he closes the fridge door. “Pizza it is.” He reaches in, grabbing a cheese pizza and plunking it on the counter.
Shaking my head, I turn to the stove and set the preheat temp.
“Would you like plain and simple? Or a culinary explosion in your mouth?”
My eyes widen. “A what?”
Wade laughs. “Cheese pizza or something with a bit more pizazz?”
I narrow one eye. “What would pizazz consist of?”
“Whatever you like. Ham and pineapple. Mushrooms and cilantro. Tabasco sauce and nacho chips…” he says with a flourish of his hands.
“Let’s go with just cheese. Less to go wrong,” I say, grabbing a couple of plates.
“Ye have little faith in my culinary expertise. But, alas, I will bow to the wishes of my mistress,” he says, folding an arm over his midsection and bowing slightly.
He dislodges the pizza from its box, placing it on the pizza stone and looking at it longingly.
“You could always go hog wild on half of it. Then, if it’s horrifying, we still have a few salvageable slices,” I suggest, shrugging.
He claps like a toddler and spins back to the refrigerator. A moment later, half of the pizza is piled with mushrooms, onions, ham, and something green. I’m not entirely certain it’s edible, but if it makes him happy, so be it.
“So, I have some news…” Wade says, wiping his hands on his jeans after he places the pizza in the oven.
“Is this the surprise?” I say, turning to him.
“Oh, lord, no. That will come soon enough,” he says, waving his hands out in front of him. “No, this is just news-related news. Small talk, if you will.”
“Ah,” I say, nodding. “Carry on.”
“Thank you,” he says, tipping his head. “As I was saying… I have some news. You know how I was going to struggle with swinging tuition after this next semester?”
I narrow my gaze. “Yes?”
“Well, I’ve just landed a gig,” he says, grinning.
My eyebrows rise. “You have? That’s great. What is it?”
“It’s another PCA job.
