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He nuzzled the side of my head. "Let me. I want to. It makes me happy to please you. And it's been a long fucking time since I was happy."
I could feel his loneliness. The man I'd met six years ago had been aggressive when it came to his family. But when we were out on his land, there was a serenity about him that had drawn me to him. He loved the ranch, and him saying he wanted to sell it to be here in New York scared the living daylights out of me. I wasn't ready for him to make such a declaration. Just the fact that he was committing to taking me out on a date every Sunday—I'd chosen the least interesting time I could when I first suggested it—was difficult to swallow, and I was certain that he'd tire of trying so hard. Then he'd stop coming to New York.
And then, what, Isha?
Then my life would make sense again.
But his assault on my psyche was relentless. When we came to the end of the gallery, he opened the back door to a small, covered patio. It looked like a fairytale, with creeping vines, a cozy table, and two chairs.
"I know it's early for high tea," he murmured, "but Mick said you love it so…viola!"
The table was laden with an array of delights that made my heart skip. Delicate porcelain teacups sat alongside a gleaming teapot, the steam whispering promises of a rich, aromatic blend. Plates of finger sandwiches were meticulously arranged, their fillings ranging from cucumber with cream cheese to smoked salmon with dill, each a tiny masterpiece of flavor. Scones, still warm, beckoned invitingly, accompanied by clotted cream and strawberry jam, their traditional simplicity a perfect counterpoint to the sophistication of the setting.
Next to the scones were an assortment of pastries and cakes, creating a kaleidoscope of colors and textures. Petite éclairs filled with light, creamy custard, tartlets bursting with fresh berries, and dainty macarons in pastel hues. The attention to detail was breathtaking, from the delicate lace tablecloth to the soft glow of the candles that flickered gently in the morning breeze, casting dancing shadows among the vines.
"I feel like we're at the Mad Hatter's party," I teased.
Rowan watched me with a mix of hunger and pride. "Wanna see how deep this rabbit hole goes, Isha?"
I knew what he was asking so I simply said, "This is incredible. Thank you," and because I couldn't help myself, raised on tiptoe and kissed him on his lips.
He froze for an instant, and then put his arms around me and dipped his head. He didn't push the kiss. Didn't deepen it.
"You smell like jasmine," he whispered.
"It's my shampoo."
"It's you, Isha." He smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached his eyes. "So, I did good with this spread?"
"You did amazing."
Sitting down, he poured tea, its fragrance blending with the fresh scent of the surrounding garden. The world outside seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of us in our enchanted nook. As we sipped from our cups and sampled the array of treats, it was as if the setting, so carefully chosen and prepared, had opened the door to a deeper connection, one that had been waiting just on the edge of my awareness.
We talked about the ranch and my practice. We talked about Flora. We even talked about current affairs. It was like being back on the ranch, when it was just the two of us; no Deb, no Ace, no Caitlyn.
"I was so frightened when I first got on the horse," I confessed. "It was so high up."
"You did beautifully once you got used to it."
"Yes."
"Did you ever go riding again?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Too many memories."
He put his hand on mine. "I'm sorry."
"Stop," I urged. "Stop apologizing. That's the last ‘sorry’ I want to hear."
"Does that mean I'm forgiven?" he asked with a boyish charm that was so much like the Rowan I remembered that it warmed me all the way to my soul.
"I'm working on it."
"Okay."
"I may never get there," I warned him, not because I wanted to hurt him, but I didn't want to mislead him. My life had very few people in it by choice. Trust was a difficult concept for me. People had let me down my whole life—even Rowan.
"I'll get you there," he vowed, tangling his fingers with mine. "I won't give up."
