Page 105 of Blacklist

“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 choices.

“You’ve been reading the Brontës again, haven’t you?” he asks.

“I think it would be romantic. The moors during autumn, all blustery and cold.” I can picture it in my mind. “Wind howling and leaves falling. I think that’s the only way to see it.”

“When is your birthday?” he asks slowly.

Somehow I’ve managed to dodge this particular bit of information. Given the nature of the game, it’s a small miracle. But Sterling isn’t stupid and I’ve let too much slip. I take a deep breath. “Promise me you won’t make me do anything stupid like a party this year.”

“What about our trips?” He’s joking but the amusement fades when he sees my face.