agreeing to do whatever she said.
“Oh, Charlene!” she shouted with a saccharine voice, her hand thrown up in a wave. “Darling, I’ll see you later,” she murmured to me but already started walking off before I could respond.
I exhaled, not realizing I’d been so tense with her standing beside me. I forced myself not to look at Braxton again, not to be that person. So I sat in silence, looking down at my hands, finding a loose thread on my skirt especially interesting.
But all too soon, a shadow blocked out the sun, and a pair of large, brown, worn boots came into view. I looked up, my heart in my throat, because I already knew who stood in front of me.
And then I locked eyes with Braxton, and the world tipped momentarily at his close proximity.
“You played beautifully today, Amelia.”
I started rubbing my palms up and down my thighs, the cotton of my dress began to bunch up from the frantic motion. I hated that I couldn’t hide my emotions, that they were always so visible, whether with fidgety hands or a red face.
Let’s also not forget the sweating.
“Thank you,” I finally managed to say. I was about to stand, when he sat down beside me, the scent of his cologne enough to make me nearly moan.
He just smelled so damn good.
We sat there for a moment in silence, and I felt awkward as hell. It wasn’t because of the quiet that surrounded us though. I was on edge because of my own nerves, and because of the fact that I was in love with this man, yet he didn’t know—and probably never would.
He was so close I could touch him if I wanted to. How many times had I envisioned doing just that? Too many. God, so many.
I looked around the picnic area, seeing everyone congregating after finishing eating, their smiles and laughter seeming to be drowned out by the rush of blood in my ears and the pounding of my heart against my ribs. The wind picked up, tangling the strands around my face, whipping them against my cheek. I could smell a concentrated whiff of Braxton’s cologne and found my hands curled around the picnic bench I sat on before I realized I gripped it.
As if it would steady me, ground me.
I felt so on display right now, figured everyone was staring at us, knowing—seeing—how much I cared for him, because I was being awkward as hell, but no one paid us any mind.
“The highlight of coming here is to hear you play, Amelia.”
I snapped my head in his direction, feeling my eyes widen, knowing I had shock written across my face. “W-What? Really?” My face was on fire, and he sat next to me, looking cool as a cucumber.
“Yeah, honestly.” He started rubbing his hands up and down his tan Dockers, and I wondered if he was nervous. Surely, he couldn’t be though. He didn’t seem like he was, or that he’d be the type to be awkward… unlike me. “You’re like…” He paused, cleared his throat, and still ran his hands up and down his thighs before curling his big fingers over his knees, as if trying to force himself to calm down. “It’s the reason I show up. To listen to you.”
My heart stopped. Hell, it felt like it did, that muscle stilling in my chest as his words sunk in.
We looked at each other then, for so long. I felt so attuned to him that no one else mattered. Nothing else did.
“Braxton, can we get your opinion on something over here?”
I blinked past the haze that had settled over me and turned my focus from Braxton to the group of men—who I knew were fellow firefighters—and watched as they waved him over. When I looked at him, I saw Braxton still watched me, not even caring that he was being addressed.
I licked my lips and lifted my hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear that had been annoyingly slapping against my cheek from the wind. “I think you’re being summoned,” I teased, smiling, but his focus was so intent that my smile faltered, and I exhaled slowly.
“Braxton?” the guy called out again.
“If you pretend they aren't there, so will I,” he said low, his voice deep and moving over me.
I didn't know what to say to that, and didn't insert my foot in my mouth, but I was unable to look away. “It might be important,” came out of my