until morning came that Justine realized the dream was gone for good. Except for the recollection of it.
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what would come of their evening ahead. Would they really pull off the ruse with her granddad? And if so, would Burke offer, yet again, to play her fiancé for the other occasions as well? She pictured strutting before Brittany with Burke by her side, introducing the two with a triumphant grin.
Even better, she pictured once more the moment from her dream. The heavenly feeling of being wrapped in his arms. Last night, she’d failed to relive the dream. But Justine couldn’t help wonder if maybe, just maybe, the moment might play out while she was awake instead.
Chapter 11
Burke dabbed his mouth with a napkin, surprised by how much he’d enjoyed the fresh trout. “I have to tell you, Wilfred,” he said, “I’d pay a whole lot of money to eat like that every night. That was excellent.”
“I’m glad you liked it. Rainbow trout is definitely one of my favorites.”
Burke had to admit he was charmed by the atmosphere of the outdoor patio. A circular table rested in the center of a net-covered gazebo, offering a view of the tall redwoods and scented pines. The hush of the creek added to the ambiance, the soothing sound seeming to pick up in quiet bouts between conversation. Conversation that had, if he said so himself, gone very well.
Burke glanced over at Justine in time to catch her look away, blush, and then look back once again with a barely decipherable grin. And so it had gone off and on throughout the night. The two catching eye contact inadvertently. The looks exchanged causing heat to stir low in his belly.
A tangerine glow from the sunset penetrated the leafy area, and the warm tones reflected in Justine’s hazel eyes. Beautiful.
His pulse raced, urging him closer to her. He glanced briefly at the space between them, and then, with barely a second thought, Burke stretched an arm, extending it along the edge of the table toward her.
It had been an innate action—the honest desire to hold her hand— as natural as smiling, but once his was out there, palm-up and waiting on the table, darts of vulnerability poked at him.
Justine looked at his hand for a blink, that pucker forming between her brows, and then reached out and laced her fingers through his. Heat rushed through his body at her silky touch.
He glanced from Wilfred, who was topping off a glass of milk from a suspiciously freshly-milked looking glass container, back to Justine, whose gaze had turned to her granddad as well. If he had to guess at her thoughts, he’d say she wanted to know if Wilfred bought their whole falling-in-love story. He wondered the same thing.
They’d explained it just as Justine indicated, consistent with the narrative she’d told him in the beginning: They’d met online a little over nine months ago and instantly hit it off. They chatted for hours daily—a combination of phone calls and online chatting—learning each other’s hopes, fears, and dreams. Along the way, they fell in love. Burke, being the romantic he was, proposed three months into the relationship.
It was odd, but Burke found a certain satisfaction in playing the role. He’d like to say it was his protective nature, the desire to champion a woman in this area, but he knew it wasn’t that selfless.
Burke liked spending time with her. He’d felt a very distinct draw toward Justine the moment he met eyes with her outside the truck. Her complex nature was evident even then.
Like the odd level of faith she put in him—a total stranger at the time—said she was trusting. Her display with the cat said she was tenderhearted. Her experience with the girls who’d bullied her back in school, that revealed different layers—vulnerability, pride, and the sadness she carried over her mother leaving. A sharp knot twisted in his gut. How that must have felt to have her mother reject her in such a way.
He gave her hand a squeeze, infusing it with the feelings growing within him. A slight blush touched her cheeks in response, a sight that made him grin.
Justine gave him a squeeze in return. A purposeful action that had him wondering if she felt the same.
Did she, or was she just accepting help in a tight spot? If she’d wanted him keep up the charade through the weekend, he’d do it, gladly. But she didn’t. Either Justine really