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Funny how the humiliation of thinking those words had faded. Now she was more interested in why she’d been so gullible and making sure she never was again, along with a big dose of gratitude that she’d found out the truth before she’d gone off to Los Angeles with a guy who didn’t care about her.
They arrived at The Wreath. Shaye was surprised by the transformation. When she’d left the space at three that afternoon, only a few tables and chairs had been set up. But four hours later, the big, open area had been filled with possibly hundreds of tables—some for two, some for eight or ten. There was a dance floor at the far end, close to the big Christmas tree that had been installed two days ago. That had been quite the production, involving a very large flatbed truck, several pulleys and nearly a dozen guys with ropes.
There was a line of people waiting to get inside The Wreath and student volunteers checked names against a list before handing over a card with a number on it.
“You have to make reservations?” Shaye asked. “To have a picnic?”
“There are a limited number of tables. A half hour before the lighting ceremony everyone who wants to come will be let in. But from now until nine thirty, it’s by reservation only.”
The line moved quickly. Shaye saw families and other couples, along with groups of friends of all ages. Some people had picnic baskets or takeout bags. Others were going to order from the nearby restaurants.
“This is a whole big thing,” she said.
“It is. We take our traditions seriously in Wishing Tree.”
“I like that.”
He smiled at her. “Me, too.”
When they reached the front of the line, Lawson gave his name and was handed a card. They made their way through the tables, studying the numbers on them, until they reached thirty-seven, a table for two away from the speakers and the DJ but with a nice view of the tree. They were tucked in a relatively private area, with only other couples around them.
“So this isn’t your first rodeo,” she teased. “You’re very smooth with your table selection.”
Lawson didn’t return her smile. “I haven’t brought a date to the tree-lighting since I was in high school.”
“You haven’t?”
“I told you the first day I met you, this isn’t a thing I do, Shaye. This is about you. I want you to believe me.”
His gaze was steady as he spoke, his voice intense. He was willing her to trust him, and despite her past and recently broken heart, she wanted to. Everything she knew about Lawson told her he was honest and the kind of man she could trust. Even more than that, he’d have her back—something she’d never experienced in a romantic relationship before.
“I do believe you,” she whispered.
He took her hand and squeezed her fingers. “I’m glad. I arranged all this because I was thinking about spending the evening with you.”
“Thank you.”
They took their seats across from each other. Lawson had brought wine, which he promised to open later. He poured them each a glass of champagne, then they touched glasses.
“To a magical summer,” she said. “Thank you for bringing me here tonight.”
“I’ve been looking forward to it.”
She smiled. “Me, too.”
After they’d sipped their champagne, he began unpacking the picnic. First he handed her paper napkins and plates, then he set out the food.
“We’ll start with melon prosciutto skewers with fresh basil and mozzarella,” he said, putting a plastic container on the table. “Then we have a nice green salad with an herb vinaigrette. The entrée is a fresh corn-and-tomato fettuccine, and for dessert we have an assortment of cookies along with prosecco grapes.” He grinned. “They are grapes soaked in vodka and prosecco, then rolled in sugar.”
She stared at him, unable to fully grasp the menu. “I thought we’d have egg salad sandwiches and potato chips. How much did you make yourself?”
“My mom made the fettuccine, but I did the rest.” He gave her a half proud, half embarrassed smile. “I like to cook. One of my friends in the army came from a family that owned a couple of Italian restaurants in Cleveland. He taught me a few things.”
“And he cooks,” she murmured, thinking Lawson simply got better and better. So what was the catch?
He opened the first container and served her a couple of the skewers. The salty goodness of the prosciutto went perfectly with the sweet melon and the cheese. As she chewed her first bite she realized that she’d been too nervous to eat lunch and was starving. Good thing he’d brought plenty.
“All right,” she said, after she’d finished her second skewer. “Why aren’t you married?”
