Page 95 of All Too Well
“It did. However ... I’m the one who planned to bribe you. How did I end up coming out on this side of the deal?”
“I’ll think of inventive ways to let you pay me back.”
She grins. “I bet you will.”
“You owe me nothing, sweetheart. This was because I wanted to see you smile.”
It’s what I always want. When Ainsley smiles, all the bad in the world disappears, leaving nothing but beauty and joy. She’s everything to me, and while we are in this arrangement, I want her happy.
“Well, I smiled a lot.”
“Good.”
“So where are you taking me now?”
“I’ll show you.” We walk down to Killian’s dock. He has incredible views from here, and you can almost hear the falls. It’s a great spot for fishing and hopefully a serene place to talk about some of my past.
“Wow, his views are spectacular,” Ainsley notes.
I try to look at it from her view—the river that runs from the mountains through the town, the way the mountain peaks look as though they can pierce the clouds, and the sun behind acting as a beacon on all the beauty of this area.
But then I look at her.
I no longer see any of it, just Ainsley.
“Yeah, the views are spectacular.”
She glances back at me, her lips tipping up as though she knows I’m not talking about the landscape. “Did you want to see what I brought for you?”
That’s right, she has a small paper bag in that gargantuan purse of hers. We head over to the large Adirondack chairs, where we can look out at the river. She’s digging in her bag, and I lean back, hands laced behind my head.
“Since it was supposed to be a bribe, I’m hoping it’s good.”
Ainsley wiggles her brows. “Oh, it is.”
“I’m hoping it’s lingerie.”
“Uhh, no. Sorry to disappoint.”
“I’ll survive. You do go commando, and knowing you’re walking around with nothing under those leggings is good enough for me.”
“Glad to be of service.”
I jerk my head to the bag. “What’s in there then?”
She grins. “Something you love.”
“I love a lot of things, but most don’t fit in bags.”
“This does.”
“Okay, let me have it.”
“Close your eyes and put out your hands.” I do as she says, waiting for this gift I love, and it feels like a plastic container. “Okay, open them.”
When I do it’s a slice of cake, but not just any cake. It’s strawberry shortcake. The kind like my mother made for me every year. While the other kids wanted her strange blends, I just wanted this.
“I haven’t had this since she died,” I admit.
