Page 80 of Unlocking Melodies

“Pretty sure that ship sailed around the duck pond incident.” But I took his arm anyway, trying to ignore how natural it felt. “Should I be concerned that you're technically kidnapping me without sharing the destination?”

“Definitely.” His grin was mischievous. “Though I promise it doesn't involve helicopters this time.”

“My hero.” I locked up, pretending not to notice the distinct flash of opera glasses from Mrs. Henderson's conveniently located second-floor window. “Let me guess - Sky's already updated spreadsheets?”

“Bold of you to assume they ever stop updating them.” He led me toward his ridiculous car, which somehow looked both completely out of place and perfectly at home in front of my modest guest house. “I heard there's a whole tab dedicated to our evening plans.”

“Only one? The statistics committee is slacking.”

As we walked down the path, I caught movement in at least three strategically placed bushes. The town's surveillance game was getting more sophisticated - or maybe just more obvious in their investment in our potential romance.

“So,” I said as Ethan opened the car door with a flourish that definitely didn't make my heart skip, “do I get any hints about where we're going?”

His smile was enigmatic. “Let's just say I got some very specific advice from a particular duck about appropriate date locations.”

“Oh god.” I buckled in, fighting back a laugh. “Please tell me Mr. Quackers hasn't become your social coordinator.”

“He's very persuasive for someone who communicates primarily through bread-based economics.”

As we pulled away, I caught one last glimpse of my porch - now mysteriously decorated with additional fairy lights that definitely hadn't been there earlier. Somewhere in the gathering dusk, I was pretty sure I heard Mrs. Henderson's muffled squeal of delight.

The night stretched ahead, full of possibilities I couldn't remember but somehow felt ready to discover. Maybe somethings didn't need memory to be worth experiencing again for the first time.

We drove past the town limits, leaving behind the warm glow of Oakwood Grove's carefully maintained charm. Ethan seemed to know exactly where he was going, navigating the winding back roads with the kind of confidence that made me wonder if he'd practiced this route.

“You're not taking me somewhere to dramatically reveal you're actually a serial killer, are you?” I asked as we turned onto a dirt path I'd never noticed before. “Because I have to warn you, Nina has a very specific set of skills when it comes to revenge scenarios.”

His laugh echoed in the car's ridiculously well-designed acoustic interior. “No murder plans tonight. Though I am interested in hearing more about Nina's revenge scenarios.”

The car slowed as we approached what looked like a wall of trees. But then Ethan guided us through a barely visible opening, and my breath caught in my throat.

A small clearing opened up before us, nestled against the lake like nature had designed it specifically for this moment. Lanterns lined the path from where we parked, their warm light dancing with shadows from the surrounding pines. The air was alive with the scent of wildflowers and water, crisp and sweet and somehow perfect.

“Ethan...” I stopped in my tracks, words failing me as I took in the scene.

A small table sat near the water's edge, draped in what looked suspiciously like one of Mrs. Henderson's prized vintage tablecloths. Candles flickered in mason jars, their light mixing with fairy strings woven through the trees. The whole setting looked like something from a movie, but with a careful attention to detail that felt uniquely personal.

“It's nothing fancy,” he said, and I caught that nervous hand-through-hair gesture again. “Just thought we could use a little magic tonight.”

“Nothing fancy,” I repeated faintly, still staring at the transformed clearing. “Right. Because everyone casually creates enchanted forests in their spare time.”

“Well, I had help.” He guided me toward the table with a gentle hand on my lower back. “Turns out your town is very invested in romantic gestures. Mrs. Henderson contributed the tablecloth, Nina handled the lighting design, and I'm pretty sure Riley's documenting everything from behind that large oak tree.”

I glanced where he pointed and caught a distinctive flash of notebook paper. “Our own personal paparazzi. How thoughtful.”

“Small towns run on gossip and good intentions,” he quoted, pulling out my chair with exaggerated gallantry. “Though I did manage to convince them we didn't need the full orchestra they suggested.”

“They wanted an orchestra?”

“Mrs. Henderson knows a guy.” He settled across from me, the candlelight making his eyes impossibly green. “Apparently he does weddings and 'romantic revelations of profound significance.'”

“Those are very specific service offerings.”

“Oakwood Grove has very specific needs.”

He reached for what looked like a high-end picnic basket - probably hand-crafted by artisan basket-weavers in some remote mountain village. But when he opened it, the contents made my chest tight in the best way.

“You didn't,” I breathed, watching him unpack familiar containers.

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