We start walking again, and I point out parts of the island as we go. He’s interested, stopping to ask questions and get a better look at things. He cares. And it’s satisfying showing him around, showing him the place I love more than anywhere else in the world.
“Is that the only church on the island?” Landon asks, stopping in front of a small stone building with a steeple on top. Ivy crawls up the sides, the leaves turning red with the autumn chill.
“It is.”
“But how do you all fit inside?”
“We don’t,” I say simply. “Do you not think it a narrow view that meeting God in the confines of a room is more likely than under the cover of the trees or in the open air of the fields?”
Landon pauses, considering the church. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
He looks at the building for another moment before falling in step beside me. We turn onto Main Street, and I watch as the charm of it washes over him, brightening his eyes and pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“Landon, are you ready to experience the best cheese of your life?” I ask.
“That’s a lofty statement, Miss Fairchild.”
“I stand by it,” I say.
Landon tips his head to the side, considering me. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
The bell rings as we enter the Mouse Trap, and Mrs. Cotts runs out from the back to greet us. Her eyes widen and her smile spreads as she takes in the sight of the island’s highest daughter and the mainland’s most powerful son together.
Landon takes my hand, a confident smile settling on his face.
And so it begins.
thirteen
Once we’ve filled our picnic basket with meats, cheeses, bread, and rose water, we make our way to our last stop on Main Street: the perfumery. Wisteria hangs from the top of the stone storefront, filling the air with its sweet fragrance, and we walk inside to a group of mainlanders who look up as we enter.
Silence creeps through the store like fog through the trees.
I instinctively look down, but Landon keeps his head high. He turns to me and lowers his mouth to my ear. “Don’t let them off so easily. It’s rude to stare,” he whispers, so quietly only I can hear. “Let them know it.”
I look back up and make eye contact with each of the mainlanders, and each one looks away as if I’ve caught them stealing.
It feels good, letting them know I’ve noticed their scrutiny.
Finally, they begin chatting again, keeping their voices low as they walk out the store and leave us to ourselves.
“Scaring away our customers?” Dad asks with a wink when he walks out of the back room.
“Something like that,” I say.
“Well, I’ll leave you kids to it. I’ll be in the back if you need anything.” Dad gives me a soft smile before disappearing.
“So, this is your family’s shop,” Landon says as he looks around the room. It’s bright and airy, with wooden shelves the color of honey and white wallpaper walls printed with delicate ferns outlined in black. Dozens of plants sit on the shelves between rows of glass bottles, and a small chandelier with crystal lights in the shape of rosebuds hangs from the ceiling. Votive candles are nestled on the shelves, and small glass bottles filled with coffee beans sit beside them.
Dad is humming in the back, and it somehow adds to the charm of the perfumery.
“It is,” I say proudly, looking around the room.
I love it here.
“It’s something special,” he says. I look up at him and smile.
“I think so, too.” I lead him to the shelf that holds our more earthy, spicy colognes. “I’d love for you to pick one to take home with you.”
“Really?” he asks, his eyes drifting over the labels. He looks delighted, and it fills me with happiness.
“Absolutely,” I say.
He sets our picnic basket on the ground and takes his time gently removing lids to smell each scent, pausing often to sniff the coffee beans and clear the prior fragrance.
In the end, he chooses our Driftwood scent, magicked with a subtle calm that puts anyone around the wearer at ease.
“Great choice. It’s one of my favorites,” I say.
He presses the top once, and the briny, fresh scent fills the space between us.
“I love it,” he says, putting the cap back on and gently placing it in our basket. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Ready for our picnic?”
“I am.”
I feel my father’s eyes follow us out of the shop, and it feels good to breathe the cool autumn air. An easy breeze picks up around us, and it instantly makes me think of Wolfe.
Floating above the water with him.
Being pulled to the surface by him.
Lying in the sand next to him.
I shake my head and dispel the images, dislodging them as if they’re debris in a gutter.
I lead Landon to a beach on the eastern shore so we can see the mainland in the distance as we eat. Most mainlanders like to see their city across the Passage—just another way to make them feel more at ease with us.
I spread one of our blankets on the sand, a perfectly chosen spot that backs up to a dune with long grasses and shrubs. It gives us some sense of privacy, and I settle onto the blanket as Landon empties our basket. He pulls out a bundle of fresh lavender, studying it.
“How are the flowers here always in bloom?”
“Magic,” I say. “How else could we keep our shops open year round?”
“Fascinating.” He sets the flowers down and sits beside me. At first we’re stiff, each hugging our own edge of the blanket, but as the autumn sun glides across the sky and the tide goes out, we relax. The space between us begins to feel like air again, not an invisible wall we dare not climb.
I take a sip of rose water and look out at the mainland. It will be my home after the Covenant Ball, and this picnic will be nothing but a memory, a moment in time that slipped by me too soon.
Landon offers me the last bit of cheese and leans back onto his elbows, staring out across the Passage.
“I was skeptical, but I have to say, that was undoubtedly the best cheese of my life,” he says.
“I wouldn’t steer you wrong.” I blot my mouth and place my cloth napkin back in the basket.
“No, Tana, I don’t believe you would.” His voice is laced with a seriousness that wraps around my insides. He looks at me then, his amber-brown eyes fixed on my own, and it is suddenly difficult to turn away.
We stay that way for several moments, and my heart speeds up as he inches his face closer to mine. I’m frozen, completely still, unsure of what to do.
Part of me wants to close the distance between us, to press my lips to his and let myself get lost in the moment. I wonder if dragonflies would erupt in my stomach, if a fire would start in my core and spread to the rest of me.
I wonder if I would want to keep kissing him over and over till death do us part.
But the rest of me is scared, because if dragonflies don’t take flight and a fire doesn’t spark, I’d rather not know until after we make our vows to one another. It wouldn’t change anything, of course, but it’s nice to believe that there’s the possibility of passion.
Landon pauses at the halfway point, but I don’t move closer to meet him. His eyes search mine, and something like understanding seems to pass over his face. He nods and pulls away, creating enough space for me to breathe again.
“Tana,” he says, his voice quiet, “will you promise me something?”
“Yes.”
“If at some point you’d like me to kiss you, will you let me know?”
I wish I knew why he wants to kiss me—if it’s because he feels a pull toward me, a spark, something more than the duty that has brought us together, or if it’s because I’m his future wife and that’s what’s expected.
“I will,” I say. “It isn’t that I don’t want you to kiss me, though. I’m just not sure I’m ready yet.”
“Understood,” he says.
He watches me for another moment, then looks out toward the mainland again. I follow his gaze, and we sit like that for several breaths, both quiet, contemplative.
“We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?” I ask, letting the sound of the waves on the shore settle the unease that has started in my stomach.
“I’ve asked myself that same question a lot,” he says.