Page 2 of Into the Woods

I shook my head, eyes wide, lungs holding my breath hostage. “I was waiting for you,” I whispered, my voice trembled, barely able to set the words free.

“Good,” he said, extending his hand between us, palm up. An offer. A request. A silent demand that I gave in to without a single thought as I wiped the sweat from my hand and placed it in his.

He pulled me to standing, hands landing squarely on my shoulders. He held me in place, not giving an inch of space. His body crowded mine, his cologne crisp in my nose. He was so much taller than me, I had to tilt my head so far back, it hung between my shoulders, the end of my braid brushing low on my back.

“I like that—knowing you’re waiting for me. What were you thinking about with your eyes closed and your face lifted to the sun like that?” His voice was deep and sure, any sign of the way it had cracked when we’d first met was gone. The hint of freshly shaved whiskers were barely a shadow against his pale, clear skin.

He was so out of my league.

So fancy.

So much older.

But, once again, he was here in our woods with me.

“I-I brought us a picnic,” I offered, but he bit his lip and shook his head.

“Not what I asked. I want to know what you were thinking. What put that secret smile on your face? What had you pressing your hands against that pretty red shirt like you were trying to hold back a flock of butterflies?”

Each question held a hint of knowing, like he could see inside me. Like he already knew the thoughts skittering around my silly head. Like he was teasing me.

My cheeks flamed, hot and red.

Oh my God, did he know I wanted him to kiss me? Did he know how long I’d been in love with him? How many pages in the cheap spiral notebook I used as my journal were covered with hearts around his name and mine? How many times I’d practiced writing our names?

Winnie L’Ourson & Christophe Robicheaux.

Mr. & Mrs. Christophe Robicheaux.

Mrs. Winnie Robicheaux.

Every combination I could think of short of?—

“Winifred, answer me,” he demanded.

I flinched, hating my full name even as it spilled from his mouth.

I rolled my lips between my teeth, my own braces glinting in the sun, and blinked up at Christophe’s raised brows and expectant expression. “I was…I, um, I was thinking about you and…”

“And what?”

A lone bead of sweat trickled down the center of my spine, my hands went damp, and my skin pulled tight everywhere.Everywhere.

“I was wondering whether you might”—I took a bracing breath and released it in a rush of words and nerves—“If you would maybe kiss me.” I couldn’t look him in the eyes. Didn’t dare to glance up at him. Instead, I stared past his elbow focused on the tree that had become our unofficial meeting spot over the years.

Time stretched out, the silence expanded deafeningly as I waited for him to laugh out loud or step away, leaving me embarrassed and alone. I wanted to run. I wanted to take back the handful of words I’d foolishly spoken. Steal back my naive confession, and run home, but Christophe held me fast and firm.

As hard as I tried not to give in and look at him, the curiosity was too much for me to deny. My focus bounced from the tree to his shoulder. From his shoulder to the stray lock of hair that curled around the edge of his ear. When I was finally brave enough to meet his gaze, his brows were pinched together, pushing low over his eyes.

I didn’t know what that look meant. Was he mad? Did he not want to kiss me?

Hope that had been buoying my courage started to deflate, cracking at the edges and crumbling to dust.

I twisted in his hold, my shoulders curving in on me, trying to make myself as small as I possibly could. If only I could melt away and disappear.

Then, in the space between one painful breath and the next, the woods spun around me and Christophe erased the small bit of space between us. He leaned in, like he was going to kiss me and make all of my dreams come true or tell me what a foolish little girl I was.

My heart raced in anticipation; my stomach churned as the butterflies turned to snakes tying themselves up in knots.

---