Page 11 of Once upon a Summer Night
“The truth is, poppies are overlooked by most people until Remembrance Day, anyway. They’re just simple weeds, really,” she was saying.
“There’s that word again.”
“What word?” she asked, curiosity lighting her face.
“‘Simple.’ You said earlier you were simple…but I’m finding that not to be the case at all.”
She sat back and crossed her arms. “Oh?”
Instead of answering, he strode to the garden. He plucked a single poppy from the ground, then dragged his chair even closer to hers. “See this? How many colors do you see?”
She pursed her lips. “Three. Red petals, black center, green stem.”
Colin gently plucked a petal. “Feel this. What do you feel?”
“I feel like I’m suddenly living in a child’s touch-and-feel book,” she quipped. When his laughter subsided, she said, “It feels like tissue paper. The kind you’d wrap around a book.”
“Look closer. Do you see anything other than red on those petals?”
She peered at it. “I must admit to never really looking at one, but yes, I see what you’re getting at. There are small veins of deeper reds, and even a bit of white on the edges.” She looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the firelight, her hair shining in the surreal blue glow of the moon.
Colin’s gut clenched in a wholly unfamiliar way. “So…not so simple?”
Wordlessly, she nodded her head in agreement.
“It’s quite stunning when you take the time to really look at it,” he murmured.
She visibly shivered, but didn’t break eye contact. Heat suffused Colin; he was drawn to her, without explanation, without sense.
But he knew, without a doubt, that this woman held his destiny in her hands.
The thought snagged in his brain, rolling around in confusion until it settled, content, in its fate.
The moment stretched. Colin gravitated closer to her, his eyes never leaving hers, and his gaze refocused to her lips, which were slightly parted. Their breath mingled, and in the instant before his flesh touched hers, a loud crash came from the woods.
They both jumped to their feet.
“Wh-what was that?” she asked, twisting her hands.
“Sounded like a branch falling from a tree,” he replied, aching to take her into his arms.
“I didn’t realize how late it is! It was lovely to meet you. I have to get going.” She held out her hand. “May I borrow your phone?”
He reluctantly handed it to her, and before he realized what she was doing, she asked him for the address, then called a taxi to collect her. Colin frowned. “Wait a second. You walked all the way here without carrying a cell phone? What if something happened to you?”
She laughed. “Colin, no one other than my aunt has ever taken the time to fuss over me. When I escape to Ireland, I leave my cell phone in the house when I go walking because I don’t want to be bothered.” She glanced up at the night sky. “I admit, though, that I don’t want to walk back in the dark. Those woods are creepy at night.”
“As long as you stick to the clearly marked path, you’d be fine during the day. But I agree with you—walking through them at night isn’t a smart move. Can I bring you home? I can cancel the taxi.”
She shook her head quickly. “No, thank you. This night was…” She paused, and he waited patiently for her to find her next words. She gave him a sweet smile. “This night was perfect. I want to remember it just like this, a perfect story.”
“Once upon a time,” he murmured, and her eyes widened in delight, “there was a beautiful flower. “During the day, the flower held its petals tight, so that only none could see them. But at night, when she was alone, and unfurled them in a glorious display of color.”
Her eyes unfocused slightly, trapped on his lips as he spoke.
“But then, one early summer’s night,” he continued, his voice low as he stepped towards her, “she stepped on a tree root.”
Rose choked on a laugh, but her eyes never left his mouth.
