Page 22 of Monsters, Vows, and Growls
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth.
Ella blinked. “You sure? You look like you just swallowed a drywall screw.”
“I’m great,” I bit out. “Perfect.”
Thorne was still pacing inside me like a bear denied dinner.Touch her arm. Say something smooth. Growl. Do something. Why aren’t we growling?
Because we’re functioning adults.
Barely.
I cleared my throat. “You wanted to check out the kitchen updates?”
"Actually," she bit her lower lip, looking like she had decided something and regretted it now. "I was thinking… I brought a picnic… if you like… what I mean is… I put together a menu for the restaurant. And I brought some sample foods. I thought we might try them. Outside. Not in here. It's stuffy and dusty and…"
I always loved put-together, functioning Ella, but this version of her, showing some insecurity and rambling? It nearly threw me off my rocker. She was drop-dead gorgeous when she was flustered. I took the first moment she took a deep breath to assure her, "That sounds like a great idea. Why don't we go outside? I know just the place."
"Okay." She looked relieved and nodded at Adam, "It was nice meeting you."
Thorne growled.If Gargoyle Ken winks at her one more time, I’m digging a trench.
What's with you? I asked, amused. A jealous Thorne was something new. Just like a flustered Ella. It looked like today was my lucky day.
This was a bad idea.I didn't like how I had stuttered—that wasn't me—I didn't like the way my heart was thumping in my chest—or maybe palpitating—I liked least of all the way I’d just let Patrick McCloud lift the picnic basket out of my hands and say, “Come on. I want to show you something.”
He made it seem so normal, as if the past ten years hadn't happened. For a moment, I considered saying,I'm sorry, I changed my mind.This was a bad idea.But then he turned and smiled that smile at me, and I followed him like a complete idiot.
Now we were walking through a narrow trail that cut behind the east side of Cedar Hollow. His truck was parked under a cluster of pine trees. I kept two steps behind him, surreptitiously taking in the way his shoulders flexed while he carried the basket, making it look easy.
The forest was quiet, except for a breeze rustling the leaves overhead and the occasional crunch of twigs beneath our boots—oh, and the absolute chaos happening inside my ribcage.
I was hyper-aware of everything. The warmth of the sun on the back of my neck. The soft piney smell of the woods. The fact that I hadn’t put on enough lip balm. The way Patrick had looked at me when he said, “Let me.” Not bossy. Not pushy. Just… that soft kind of firm he used to reserve for when I was being particularly stubborn.
Which, according to several sources, I was—quite frequently.
We came to a small and private clearing, with a little rise that overlooked a field of late-blooming wildflowers and offered a view of the Hollow below. It was breathtaking. The spot reminded me of the cover of a romance novel.
Which was probably why I started panicking. I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t even sure what exactly set it off. The dappled light? The quiet? The stupid way he crouched down to spread the blanket? Or maybe it was the way he looked up at me when he finished. With that soft, quiet look. The one I had seen a million times in my dreams. The one that said I was his favorite person in the entire world.
I forced a breath in through my nose and told myself,You’re fine, Ella. It’s just a picnic. With a man. Who shattered your entire belief in love. No big deal.
“Sit?” he asked, gesturing to the blanket.
My legs obeyed before my brain could vote. Traitorous knees. I watched him unpack the basket with the same kind of care he used to spread the blanket and arrange the dishes. It was supposed to be amenu test,not a date. A professional, curated,field-tasting opportunity for Patrick to sample potential dishes for the Cedar Hollow opening.
It was. That’s what I’d told myself when I’d carefully folded the napkins and packed the lemon-rosemary chicken salad, the roasted pear and arugula sandwiches, the hand-rolled oatcakes with blackberry compote. I had poured sparkling elderflower water into reusable glass bottles and made a mental list of feedback questions.
“You made all this?” he asked, lifting the lid on the basket.
I nodded, already regretting the menu cards I’d handwritten and slipped in beside each container. “It’s part of the new concept. I wanted your feedback.”
He pulled out a sandwich and raised a brow. “Roasted pear and goat cheese?”
“With arugula. And fig jam.” I specified.
He took a bite, and I swear to God, his eyes fluttered shut. Just for a second. Causing my stomach to do something I’m not legally allowed to describe.
“I think I just fell in love with a sandwich,” he said.
