But when I finally make it to where she’s standing, I come to a stop and watch the ground between our feet. “Hello,” I say.
She takes a deep breath and lets it go. “Hi.”
“I’m glad to see you made it here safely.”
“I caught a ride with Caitlyn and the girls.”
I nod, unsurprised by this information. “It’s good to see you.”
Her mouth curves in a small smile. “I missed you.”
I missed her too. I wanted to see her every day. And thinking about that now makes me remember how much it’s hurt not to see her. I don’t know what to say.
“Wil—” Her voice trembles and she turns away. I watch as her hands curl into fists at her sides.
“Yes?”
“Can we be friends again? Please?”
I close my eyes and open them. “We’re friends, Jenna.”
“I’ve hated not being able to talk to you this week.”
I think about it for a long moment. “I’ve hated it, too.”
She takes a step toward me. And then another.
“Can I hug you?”
I step forward and fold her into my arms. There’s this sharp stab of pain and then this feeling of rightness. Like we fit together.
Her head shifts and I smell her hair—cinnamon. A rush of feelings and impulses rise to the surface. Without realizing it, my arms tighten around her, pulling her fast against me. That one small whiff has brought back memories—holding her, shaking in my arms, at Disneyland, kissing her on her bed when she was crying, the feel of her small hand when she slipped it inside mine.
I swallow what feels like a boulder in my throat. “Let’s spend some time together tonight,” I say.
She sighs, and I feel her warm breath rush past my arm. She’s rubbing her cheek against the cloth of my shirt, causing tension in every inch of my body.
I want her. And not just as a friend.
Our time away from each other hasn’t helped in that respect. Those feelings are as strong as ever. Stronger.
We have dinner together—soup and dark bread—and then I set up her booth for her. She decorates it with glittery scraps of cloth and a big banner that says Mistress Jenna’s Fortune Readings. We talk about what each of us did this past week, and I tell her about my progress with the visualization. She listens intently and asks me questions, but I’m feeling apprehensive.
What if I can’t win her tiara back?
I’m worried I’ll disappoint her if I don’t win. But I’ve never been more ready than I am now for this fight. And I have to win, because I can’t disappoint her.
I have to show her that I’m worthy of her love.
Chapter 27
Jenna
“Did you do anything fun this week?” I asked, stuffing the last corner of bread into my mouth. The corn chowder soup was spicy and delicious.
He shrugged. “Just a minor art project. Helped me relax.” As William polished off his second bowl, my eyes traveled up his finely sculpted arms—not a trace of excess fat anywhere. The veins crisscrossed his muscles like a contour map under his skin, and I wanted to trace every one of them with my fingertips…followed by my tongue.
My eyes darted to his handsome face. “What project? A painting?”
He was quiet for a moment, his thumbs twiddling against each other. Finally, he said, “It’s something for you. A sort of apology for the way I acted on Sunday…”
I straightened. “What? You made something for me and I can’t see it ‘til we get home? How—”
“I brought it. It’s not very big. I didn’t have a lot of time.”
I stand up at the picnic bench where we’ve been sitting. “You brought it here? Why am I not seeing it right this minute?”
His eyes widened, and he was staring at me like I was a crazy person. “Calm down.”
I shook my head and playfully slapped the picnic bench between us. “I’m not calming down. You made something pretty for me. I want to see it!”
“You don’t know if it’s pretty.”
I put my hands on my hips. “William Drake, if you made it, then it’s pretty. I already know that. I have seen your work before.”
Slowly, he rose from his seat, a satisfied smile solidifying, but he shook his head as if exasperated with me and my excitability.
“Well, you brought it up, so now you have to show me,” I said with a smile, holding out my hand to him. “Come on….”
I knew he wanted to show it to me but he was being modest, so I gently took his hand and urged him along. William led me to his tent, a pavilion that looked a lot like something a medieval nobleman would inhabit while off in the field of war. The floor was lined with a big, thick Middle Eastern-style carpet, and there were cushions and bedding on the floor to one side, with a table and some wooden boxes and crates on the other. His armor was on a stand in the corner next to a small weapons rack.
It was after sunset, so William lit a modern propane camping lantern. It was generally agreed upon that modern nighttime lighting was needed in our campsites. If we were to go for anything authentic, such as candles or torches, we’d be exposing ourselves to fire hazards and other safety concerns. And though the rest of his tent looked straight out of the medieval time period, the lantern he hung on a hook at the top of the tent did not.
William pulled out a leather poster tube, and from it he extracted a rolled-up canvas. His actions were slow, halting, as if he feared my reaction. Maybe he’d decided to do that naked picture of me after all…
But no, the picture that he unrolled across the top of his patchwork silk and satin bedspread was not a naked picture at all. It only took seconds for me to absorb what it was, and once I did, my heart stopped and my eyes clouded with tears. I had no idea how or when I’d catch my next breath.
Outlined in black and filled with gorgeous watercolors was a view of Main Street USA in Disneyland. But instead of a crowded street, there were only two figures. They were holding hands as they walked down the street toward Sleeping Beauty’s castle, their backs to the viewer. There was no mistaking Mickey Mouse, who was holding the hand of a little girl with white-blond hair—me.
That story I’d told him…from my childhood. He’d remembered. And he’d rendered it in such loving detail that it made me ache just to look at it.