Page 137 of Love in Riverbend
I squeeze her hands. “With your touch, it will be perfect.” Letting go of her hand, I lift her chin, pressing a soft kiss to her sweet lips. “Dinner?”
“An official date? The diner on Main?”
“No.” I quickly add, “Not because I’m not ready to make this public but because I have other plans.”
Her face tilts as her brown eyes glisten. “What plans do you have, Justin?”
“A picnic. I thought we could drive to the quarry pits. Find a secluded spot, and…” —I lift my eyebrows— “eat.”
Devan looks down at herself. “I’ve been working all day. I’m hot and sweaty and?—”
“The most beautiful girl I know.”
The pink hue in her cheeks reddens to a rosy glow. “Let me call my mom. I don’t want her to expect me for dinner and I don’t show.”
“Is that a yes?”
“You packed a picnic?” she asks.
“I did. I can’t promise it’s great. If it’s not edible, we can stop and get something.”
“But you packed it?”
I nod. “I couldn’t ask my mom to do it. She’d ask questions.” I let out a sigh. “This may come as a shock, but I’m not exactly known for my romantic gestures.”
Devan pushes up on her toes and brushes my lips with hers. “Yes, Justin Sheers, I will go on a picnic. I can’t wait to see what you packed.” Her hand goes over her stomach. “I’ve been working here since before lunch. I’m famished.”
“Maybe we should go someplace closer.”
Her gaze goes out the windows. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the quarry pits. And it looks like a beautiful night.” She sits behind the big desk at the front of the class.
While Devan looks more like a student than the teacher, I sense her pride and eagerness to take the role. As she speaks to her mom, I turn another full circle. The back of the classroom has small stations with sinks, places for students to conduct their own scientific experiments. In moments like these, I forget about our difference in age.
The annoying little girl has bloomed into a strong, intelligent, competent woman.
“…bye, Mom.”
“Are you ready?” I ask.
Devan raises one finger and quickly sends a text message.
“Jill or Marilyn?” I ask, wondering which friend she contacted.
“Jill,” she says with a grin. Grabbing her big bag, Devan leads me toward the door. “Who is your cover?”
“I don’t have a cover,” I answer honestly. “My folks don’t ask. They probably think I’m with a list of different guys. And no one else keeps track of my coming and going.”
Devan locks the door to her classroom. I follow her lead, hoping we won’t need GPS to make it back to the front doors. When we get to the parking lot, her car is near my truck.
“Hide your car?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I can say Jill picked me up. Just bring me back here after our picnic.”
I open the passenger door to my truck. Devan reaches for the handle, steps on the running board, and climbs into the seat. Before I close the door, I stand, staring.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing. I like having you in my truck.”
