“I have a surprise for you,” I said, and she nodded, seemingly content with that plan. I turned on some music and found a classical station. She smiled in approval and settled her head back against the headrest. I looked at the profile of her tender throat and imagined what it would be like to kiss it.
Turning my attention to the traffic with great deliberation, I listened to her hum to the music. She was probably the first girl I’d ever known who could hum along with classical music. She became more precious by the moment.
We reached River Road, and I turned alongside it, heading for the park. When we pulled in, I found a parking place at the end of the parking lot. Flipping off the ignition, I reached behind her seat and pulled out a bouquet of fresh, mixed flowers. “M’lady,” I teased, handing it to her.
She seemed genuinely touched. “Thank you, Hawk! No one has ever given me flowers before.” I wondered just how protective this father of hers was. Surely she hadn’t been overlooked this long.
I nodded and climbed out of the car, popping the trunk and pulling out thick blankets and a picnic basket that I spread on the riverbank before going back for her. Opening her door, she reached for my hand, and I felt as though I was with a queen. I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to contain myself for the next hour or so. It would be a good exercise in self-control.
We sat by the river and opened the basket. I’d brought tiny bottles of champagne as well as soft drinks, and she opted for the latter. I immediately buried the liquor, getting it out of her sight. There were sandwiches and salads, cheese, fruit and tiny cupcakes in a variety of flavors. The basket came with a fitted set of dishes, and we set about making plates for our feast.
“So, is it just you and your father?” I asked, wanting to know where she stood. She nodded and looked sad, and I immediately felt bad for being too inquisitive. “I’m sorry,” I muttered quickly.
“No, no… it’s okay,” she answered. “My mother died two years ago. She had cancer and it was a long, long battle. I guess we didn’t say enough prayers because she couldn’t stay with us.” She swallowed hard before taking a sip of her bottled iced tea.
“I didn’t mean to be nosy.”
“It’s okay, Hawk. I want to tell you. Mom was sick for a very long time, and I took care of her. You might wonder why a girl my age isn’t married yet, and now you know. Dad, even though he’s of the cloth, isn’t much good with sick people. It fell on me to be there for her. I didn’t mind, but it changed quite a bit of my early years.”
She wasn’t complaining, merely accounting for what she realized would be obvious questions. I added admiration to the list of Liane attractions I was compiling. I waited for her to go on, sensing a need in her to talk.
“I shouldn’t burden you with all this,” she apologized, and I quickly shook my head.
“It’s not a burden. Please tell me. I want to know everything there is to know about you.”
She looked a bit doubtful. Perhaps she was accustomed to being the listener.
“Well, what would you like to know?” she asked.
“Would you marry me?” I said quickly.
Liane’s head tipped a bit, and she rolled her eyes. “Oh, now you’re having fun with me,” she said in a very clipped, heavily accented tone.
I smiled. “Maybe not as much as you might think… but I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’ve never been one for too many words.”
“Why is that?” she asked, seeming to be sincerely interested.
I shrugged. It was far too early in this game for me to do a tell-all. Maybe it would never be the right time. One thing I knew. I was becoming addicted to her. I almost felt an oncoming sense of anxiety knowing that our picnic would end soon, and it would be time for her to leave. I didn’t want that to happen.
“You have secrets?” she prompted.
“You mean other than I’m a maharajah in hiding from my harem because I’ve cut off their American Express?” I couldn’t keep the smile from playing across my lips.
Her slender finger came up and slid down my cheek. Currents of hot electricity answered her touch, all the more so because I knew she was totally innocent of intent or guile. She was genuinely caring. “I understand,” she murmured. “Sometimes secrets must wait their turn.”
I quickly grabbed the finger trailing down my cheek and kissed the tip of it. She didn’t seem startled at all. It was almost as if she expected it. When I finally let go, she moved the finger to her own lips and kissed the kiss I’d left upon it.
I was overwhelmed. I’d never been treated with such gentleness, such a genuinely pure spirit. It felt like an encompassing cloud of peace and acceptance just to be near her. “You’re a sweetheart, you know that?” I blurted.
She nodded and her cheeks blushed the smallest bit. “It’s my sensitivity you’re feeling.” The words were matter of fact.
“How so?” What did she mean?
“Promise you won’t laugh?” I waited until I nodded and she exhaled a long breath. “I generally don’t share this about myself, but I’m an empath. Are you familiar with what that means?”
“I know empathetic,” I tried, attempting to understand.
“Well, sort of based off the same idea except a little more so in my case.” She turned to me fully, her deep dark eyes almost willing me to understand. “My mother was an empath and her mother before her. We’re very sensitive to people and what they’re thinking, who they really are. For example, someone might try very hard to keep secrets about who they are, but I’ll see right through their words and see them for who they are.”
“Like a psychic?”
She shook her head. “No, no visions or anything like that. I pick up on their energy; often even better than they know it themselves.”
I froze inside. I was nothing but a maze of secrets, lies, and deception. Even my name wasn’t my own. What was she thinking about me? I had to ask. “What do you pick up from me?” I held my breath.
Liane looked out thoughtfully over the river as if framing her words before she spoke them. I felt as though my entire future was in the balance, but fought the impulse to stand up and leave.
“I feel a sadness from you,” she said. “There’s a darkness in your past, something you had no control over but it became your life nevertheless. I know you’re a good man, but you’re holding on to bad things. I watch you when you think I’m not looking, and you’re like a chameleon. You have one face and body language that you show others, but a softer one you show me.”
She knew me — too well. Was she holding something back?
“Do I frighten you?” I asked in what was an admission that her words held credence.
“I’m not frightened of you, but I am frightened for you,” she answered finally.
I bristled a bit. I could take care of myself. Except for Bernie, I always had. What could this gentle creature do that I couldn’t do for myself?
“I could teach you how to love,” she answered, and I froze.
Jesus! She really can read thoughts!