She looked into his eyes, and her mouth went dry.
He lifted a finger to her cheek. “You have a smudge of ink here,” he said huskily.
A flutter of nerves invaded her belly, and for one crazy moment, she wanted to grab his face and kiss him. Instead, she gave a nervous laugh and stepped away. “What do you say we go out to dinner tonight? You can cheer me up and tell me more about your friend Reggie. And I’ll tell you about my grand new idea.”
Jonathan’s eyes took on a mischievous look. “Are you asking me on a date?” he said with a wink.
“What if I am?” A rush of heat infused her cheeks.
He gave her a slow smile that made her heart beat faster in her chest. Then he threw his trowel on the grass. “Just give me twenty minutes to get cleaned up.”
The fact that he was this giddy over one meal should have told Jonathan that he was living in a fool’s paradise. But it was the end of June and he hadn’t made any real headway with his plan to woo Emma. He had to make tonight count.
The fact that she’d seemed flustered by his presence a few minutes ago made his heart sing with hope. Could she slowly be developing romantic feelings for him? He offered a quick prayer heavenward that it might be so.
Changing quickly out of his work clothes, he washed up with a pitcher of water in his room. Then he pulled out his best shirt, waistcoat, and trousers, making sure to tame his hair and fix a perfect knot in his tie. On his way across the back lawn, he plucked a few of Mrs. C.’s flowers and twisted them into a posy for Emma. Instead of going through the kitchen, he went around to the front of the boardinghouse and knocked on the door.
Emma herself answered, her face brightening as she took in the flowers and his appearance. She was wearing a pretty striped dress that brought out the color of her eyes. Her freshly brushed hair shone under the entry hall light.
“For you, m’lady.” He swept a bow, then held out the posy.
“Why, thank you, kind sir.” She brought them to her nose and inhaled. “They’re lovely.”
“Are you ready to go?”
“I am. Let me get my purse.” She disappeared inside for a minute, then returned with her bag. “I asked Mrs. C. to put the flowers in water for me.”
“I hope she doesn’t mind that I swiped them from her garden.” He grinned as they strolled down the walkway.
“I don’t know,” she teased. “Your career as a gardener could be in jeopardy.”
He laughed. “Where would you like to eat?”
“I thought we could try that Italian restaurant on King Street. It looks cute from the window.”
“Do you mean Mama Vittore’s?” Hopefully not, because judging by the tablecloths and candles, it might be expensive.
“That’s the one.” Her eyes lit up as she snaked her arm through his. “I think we deserve an elegant night, don’t you?”
He smiled down at her. So much for his pocketbook. But with such excitement in her voice, he’d pay whatever it cost to keep her happy. “I must say, I’m amazed you’re in such good spirits after what happened today.”
“I was upset at first, but the more my father talked, the more I realized that he hated to disappoint me and, in fact, did everything he could to help me come up with a new plan.”
They reached the restaurant, and Jonathan held the door open for her.
Inside, the enticing aromas of tomato sauce, garlic, and fresh bread surrounded them. Jonathan’s stomach growled in response, and he suddenly realized he was ravenous after working in the garden all afternoon.
A hostess showed them to a table in the corner by the window. Almost instantly, a waiter appeared with a basket of bread and two menus. Once Jonathan had a chance to peek at the prices, he was relieved to see that they were quite reasonable after all.
After Emma had ordered the cheese tortellini and Jonathan had chosen the cannelloni al ragù, they finally had a chance to talk.
“What sort of therapy do you plan to do with Marianne?” Jonathan asked as he broke a piece of bread in half.
“Nothing too difficult. Her doctor gave me a few exercises I could help her with.” She unfolded a pristine white napkin onto her lap. “He says that if Marianne works hard at home, as well as at her appointments, her muscles will strengthen faster and she might even be able to walk with braces. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Jonathan? To see her out of that chair?” Emma’s eyes glistened in the candlelight.
“Yes,” he said, his voice husky. “It certainly would.”
“The only problem is Vera—and possibly Corinne.” She paused in the midst of buttering her bread, knife in the air. “They still don’t like me.”
At that moment, she resembled the young eight-year-old girl she’d been when he first moved next door, sad because the girls at school were mean to her. Now, like then, he wanted to confront the bullies and make them play nice.
He reached across to squeeze her hand. “They don’t know you well enough yet. Once they do, they won’t be able to help but adore you.”
Like I do. With effort, he refrained from adding that part.
She gripped his fingers. “Thank you. I wish everyone felt the same as you.” Her features brightened. “The good news is that at least my father appears to like me.”
“He should. He’s your father, after all.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. Lots of parents don’t get along with their children.”
The waiter arrived with their entrées. He set their plates down with a flourish, then garnished the pasta with a heaping spoonful of grated cheese. “Buon appetito.” He bowed and hurried off.
Jonathan took the opportunity to change the subject slightly. “So, tell me about your grand idea. Does it have something to do with getting a new job?”
“Not exactly. More of a project I’d like to start.” She speared a tortellini with her fork. “I want your honest opinion before I approach Randall about it.” She placed the fork in her mouth and closed her eyes, savoring the flavor. “Mmm. This is delicious.”
“I agree. Best cannelloni I’ve ever tasted.”
“Back to my idea. I was thinking about the rally coming up. You remember the debate with Mayor Church?”
“I remember. Even Reggie is planning to attend.”
“A debate is all well and good, but I think Randall needs something to show him interacting with the community in a positive light.”
“What did you have in mind?”
She leaned forward, the flame from the candle casting a glow over her face. “A fundraiser for the children’s hospital.”
“The one Marianne goes to?”
“That’s right. It’s such a great institution. We could have games and pony rides and charge a small price for each. The money would go to the hospital. I’m sure the local papers would cover the event, and if Randall was photographed having fun with Marianne and mingling with families and kids, then the people would get to see him in a different light. Not just as a professor, but as a man who truly cares about all the citizens.”
Jonathan set down his fork. “That’s brilliant. Just what he needs to give him an edge: a more-rounded public persona.”
“Exactly.” She beamed at him. “Do you think Randall will like it?”
“He’d be crazy not to.” He narrowed his eyes. “Does this mean you’re joining his campaign team?”
“I’d like to. I don’t think I’d get paid for it though, which wouldn’t solve my employment issue.” She took another bite of her pasta and washed it down with a sip of water.
Jonathan hated to dampen her enthusiasm, but she needed a dose of reality to mix with her optimism. “Emma, what will you do if your father never claims you as his daughter and continues to say you’re his niece? The election is a long way off. Can you really wait until next January before ending this masquerade?”
Her features clouded over. “I don’t know.”
He took her hand in his. “How about this idea then? If Randall agrees to do the fundraiser and the event goe
s well, you insist that he acknowledge you publicly.”
She bit her bottom lip. “That’s pushing a bit hard, don’t you think?”
“His family has had more than enough time to get used to your presence. It’s time to put yourself first for a change.”
“I will. Soon, I promise.” She smiled. “Let’s wait and see how this idea goes over first.”
Jonathan wanted to push her to stand up for herself. In other circumstances, she never had a problem with confidence. But when it came to her father, she was too afraid of alienating him to speak her mind.
Could he really blame her? After all, it was exactly the reason he’d been hesitating to reveal his heart to Emma. He was afraid of the repercussions.
“How have you been? Have you had any more . . . episodes lately?” Emma’s quiet question brought him up short.
He stiffened. “No. Not for a few weeks now.”
“That’s good.” She hesitated, then leaned closer. “Have you been able to talk about it with Reggie?”
His heart took on an uncomfortable palpitation. He shook his head.
“If it helps, you know you can tell me anything.” Her earnest blue eyes held him captive.
Did he dare ruin the mood of the evening by sharing his guilt over the one event that tortured him the most? The one that she, more than anyone, had a right to know about? He took a sip of water to ease his suddenly dry throat. “There is something I need to tell you.” He took in a breath. “It’s about Danny.”
Her brow furrowed. “Go on.”
“I was there during the raid when he . . .” Jonathan swallowed. “We were running across a field. Danny was behind me when the explosion happened. I turned to look over my shoulder and . . .” He closed his eyes. “I saw Danny get hit. He stared right at me in horror as he flew backward.” Jonathan wrenched his eyes open to clear the vision in his brain.
Emma sucked in a breath, but leaned closer, squeezing his hand.
“That’s not the worst part.” He could barely force the words from his throat. “If I’d gone after him, I might have been able to save him . . . but a wall of fire sprang up between us, and I couldn’t make my legs move. I stood there like a statue until the rest of the squadron went in and retrieved his burned body.” Unable to bear her anguish, he lowered his head, eyes fused to the bread basket.
“Oh, Jonathan.” Her voice came out in a whisper. “How horrible.”
“I live with that guilt every day. My fear prevented me from going to his aid.”
She lifted a napkin to dab at her cheeks. “It doesn’t sound like there was anything you could have done. And you might have ended up dead yourself.”
“We’ll never really know, will we? My best friend died while I watched.” He swiped his fingers over his damp eyes, afraid to look up and see the disgust on her face.
Instead, her strong fingers gripped his hand. “Listen to me, Jonathan Rowe. You are not responsible for Danny’s death. It was God’s will, and as hard as it is, we must accept it.”
He dared to look at her. “How can you say that when I cost you the life of your fiancé?”
Her gaze faltered, her expression pained. “If anyone has cause to feel guilty about Danny, it’s me,” she said quietly.
“Whatever for?”
“For agreeing to marry a man I wasn’t in love with.” She sagged back against her chair dejectedly. “The only reason I went along with the engagement was to give Danny a reason to come home.”
Jonathan blinked. He’d tortured himself for months, thinking of Emma’s pain at losing Danny. But she hadn’t been in love with him at all?
“Don’t misunderstand me,” she said quickly. “I cared for Danny very much. His proposal came as a shock, and I probably shouldn’t have accepted it. But it seemed cruel to end our relationship right when he was heading off to war.”
Jonathan leaned back. How many times had Danny looked at Emma’s photo and told him that she was the one thing keeping him going? That he would do everything in his power to return to her and their future together?
“I don’t think it was a mistake,” Jonathan said. “At least Danny’s last days were happy, knowing you’d be waiting for him.”
She shook her head and looked at him, an inexplicable emotion burning there. “I was far more worried about you being killed than Danny. Does that make me a terrible person?” She bit her bottom lip.
Jonathan’s heart hammered in his chest. She’d worried more about him than her own fiancé? What did that mean? “You’re not terrible.” He reached for her hand. “It seems we’ve both been wrestling with our own demons over Danny.” He smiled, a large part of his burden easing from his conscience. He might never fully get over his guilt, but at least now Emma knew the truth. “I’m glad we finally cleared that up.”
An expression of relief washed over her features. “You don’t hate me for treating your friend that way?”
“I could never hate you, Emma.” The intensity of his feelings made his chest constrict, the air bursting in his lungs. He had to clamp his teeth together to keep from blurting out something she wasn’t ready to hear.
A sudden movement beside them broke the moment. Their server stood smiling, waiting to clear the plates. Jonathan leaned back to allow him access to the tabletop. “Thank you. That was delicious.”
“Buono.” The waiter quickly stacked everything on a tray. “You have dessert and stay for the music, no?”
“What music?” Emma’s eyes lit with curiosity.
“You wait and see.” The waiter grinned and swept off with the dishes.
A few minutes later, two men walked up to a small raised platform at the end of the room, where a microphone had been placed. One rather stout fellow spoke in Italian, loud enough not to need any amplification. The people applauded.
Jonathan looked at Emma, who shrugged and laughed. Jonathan laughed too, relieved at the change in atmosphere. After all, this night was supposed to be fun, not maudlin or overly emotional.
The other man sat down on a stool and pulled out an ancient-looking accordion. After a few discordant notes, he got the rhythm down and began to play a lively tune. Then the stout man began to sing along in Italian.
Though Jonathan couldn’t understand the lyrics, the foreign words oozed romance. Sure enough, several couples got up from their tables and began to dance in the small area near the platform.
Jonathan glanced at Emma, who seemed to be enraptured by the performance. Did he dare ask her to dance? His pulse sprinted hard. If he didn’t make a move now, when would he ever?
He took a quick sip of water, then cleared his throat. “May I have the honor of this dance?”
A blush crept across Emma’s cheeks, but she nodded.
Jonathan held out his hand and led her to the now-crowded dance floor. The group was a mix of ethnicities and ages. Old and young, short and tall, plump and thin. Within that circle, he and Emma could remain anonymous. Strangers on a first date in a foreign land.
The music changed tempo, and this time there was no doubt the man was singing a love song. The longing in his voice struck a chord deep within Jonathan. Anticipation and a touch of nerves spilled through his system when he placed a hand at Emma’s waist and drew her closer. She fit against him perfectly. The floral scent of her perfume drifted up to him as they glided in time to the unfamiliar music.
He allowed his eyes to close, his cheek resting against the silkiness of her hair. Every sense seemed to come alive. The feel of her hand in his, the heat of their bodies touching, the intake of her every breath. He wished the music would never end, and they could stay locked together this way forever.
A perfect ending to a perfect date. Well . . . almost.
It would only be perfect if he got the chance to kiss her before the night was over.
Emma hummed to herself as she and Jonathan walked back to the boardinghouse. It had been a wonderful evening—more fun than she’d had in a long, long while. In fact, she could never
remember having a better time with anyone.
Being held in Jonathan’s arms had stirred something within her. Something magical and secret. Something she’d never dared examine before now.
Her feelings for Jonathan, once so staid and sure, were changing, and that confused her. She no longer thought of him as her brother—or even just her best friend. Best friends didn’t cause one’s pulse to skip or the nerves to jump in one’s stomach. But lately, every time she was near Jonathan, the air around them fairly crackled with a strange sort of electricity. A type of anticipation. For what, she wasn’t entirely sure. For their hands to brush, their eyes to lock, their lips to join?
She inhaled sharply. Was that really what she wanted? For him to kiss her? Not just a brotherly peck on the cheek, but a passionate kiss between a man and a woman?
Her heart quivered at the thought, but she couldn’t deny it. Nor could she deny the fact that she’d never felt anything close to this with either Danny or Terrence. She’d dated Danny because he was the first boy who’d ever asked her out. And Terrence had been more of a safety net, a mature gentleman who would have made sure she was safe and protected—all the more important after Grandad died. But she’d never loved him. She knew that the moment he proposed. Yet she’d kept him dangling for weeks before she gave him her answer. Was the real reason for her hesitation the fact that she’d had feelings for Jonathan all along?
She tucked that idea away to examine later in the privacy of her room. For now, she planned to enjoy every minute of this magical night.
When they reached the boardinghouse, Jonathan unlatched the metal gate and escorted her up to the front porch. “Will you sit with me for a minute before you go in?”
“All right.” She smoothed her dress under her as she sat down on the swing.
He took a seat beside her, so close that their legs brushed. Her mouth went dry, her breathing shallow. It was a beautiful summer evening, warm enough for her to be appreciative of the slight breeze. A multitude of twinkling stars dotted the dark night sky.
Very romantic. Maybe too romantic.
Jonathan’s arm stretched behind her on the swing, and his fingers played with the loose ends of her hair. Surely, he must be able to hear the hammering of her heart.
The Highest of Hopes Page 18