WORTHY, Part 1 (9 page)

“I’m guessing you don’t have a picnic basket,” Jonathan said as
I set the yogurt on the table with the rest of the ingredients.

I
looked at him and smiled. He was wearing his jeans and one of the button-down shirts I’d gotten him, the sleeves rolled casually up, exposing his strong forearms. He’d even wet his hair and combed it neatly.

“Very nice,”
I said. “Very picnicky.”

“Not as nice as you,” he said, fake pouting before breaking out into a happy grin. “I just can’t believe we’re going to take the whole day off. My God. What if we get sick of each other?”

“Then I guess we can always get back to chopping firewood and gathering kindling,” I said, smiling sweetly at him as I retrieved the cutting board and a sharp knife.

“Well, we need a picnic basket,” he said. “What can we use? It isn’t a picnic unless we have a basket.”

“A five-gallon bucket?” I offered. “There are a couple down at the barn, but they’d probably have to be washed out. And we need a blanket. It’s not a picnic unless we’re sitting on a blanket.”

He grinned. “I think I can manage this part of the picnic.”

I sliced the rest of the steak into the thinnest pieces I could manage and chopped some vegetables for a steak salad. Dividing it into equal portions, I boxed them into plastic containers and moved on to the bread. It was still crusty and delicious, so I cut two pieces and covered them with butter before putting them in their own container. Now, for dessert. I ladled the frozen fruit—peaches and different types of berries—into the yogurt, stirring to mix it well, and placed the top back on the plastic container. There wasn’t much yogurt left, and I was sure we’d eat it all.

I
was cleaning the dishes and utensils I’d used when Jonathan returned, whistling tunelessly. He sounded like the mockingbird, warbling and twittering before dipping up and down in different keys and scales. I could listen to him whistle all day and he probably wouldn’t whistle the same thing twice.

“I have one picnic basket ready for a picnic right here,” he said, hefting a sparkling five-gallon bucket lined with a towel.

“And I have one picnic ready for a basket,” I said, loading the containers into the bucket. I grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the fridge to help wash our meal off.

“That was quick,” Jonathan said, frowning a little bit. “Are you sure you don’t need any more time? It isn’t just sandwiches, is it?”

I snorted. “I’ll have you know that sandwiches are the perfect picnic food,” I said snootily. “You know, I think the barn roof has suddenly become a lot more pressing. We should probably forgo the picnic.”

“Forgo nothing,” Jonathan said, snagging the full bucket and making a beeline for the door. “We’re out of here. It’s time for the picnic,
Michelle.”

I
had to admit to myself that I liked it when he called me by name. Maybe it was just the fact that I’d been alone here for so long. But there was something comforting about hearing my own name. I understood why Jonathan had been so upset not knowing what his name had been directly after I found him.

I
only wished that his memory would come back so he could share more about himself. It was frustrating for both of us when I would try to ask him about something and he could only shrug impotently. He knew what he liked and didn’t like, but he couldn’t tell me where he’d grown up, what his parents were like, what he did for a living, or what his true dreams were.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from dreaming now, in this new reality he was building for himself.

“We’re both good at cooking,” he’d tell me. “And we can grow our own ingredients. What if we start selling baked goods and other things? When people hear that we grow the ingredients on site, they’ll be lining up …”

“Lining up around the block? Around the woods?”
I’d tease back. “We don’t need the money, Jonathan. We’re doing just fine.”

“I’m not talking about you, moneybags,” he’d retort. “I’m talking about the fortune I’m going to make off your farm. Th
is farmhand is going to turn into a mogul.”

I
followed Jonathan out the front door and through the field. He’d set up the picnicking site in the middle of the field, flattening a patch of grass to allow the blanket to rest evenly over the ground. It was an enchanting spot—wildflowers and bristly grasses lined the blanket. When I sat down, the flowers were taller than I was, obscuring my views of the cottage and the barn. It was like we were in our own private world, enjoying a relaxing meal and day.

“Well planned,”
I commended him. “Perhaps the best picnicking I’ve ever done.”

“We’ll see once I find out what we’re eating,” Jonathan said.
“Worst picnic ever if it’s sandwiches.”

“You stop,”
I warned as he began unpacking the containers of food, spreading them across the blanket. “You’ll enjoy those sandwiches or it’s back to work.”

“These aren’t sandwiches!” he exclaimed, popping the tops off the steak salad. “Wow, this looks really good.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” I asked haughtily, fanning myself. “Only the master chef. Of course it’s going to be really good.”

We
tucked into the picnic meal, with me never realizing how amazing it was to eat in the middle of the field. It honestly felt like some kind of fantasy world, especially when the wind blew. Then, the white puffs of the nearby cottonwood trees would float lazily across the field like summer snow. It was beautiful. I didn’t even mind them getting caught in my hair.

“A fine, fine picnic,” Jonathan proclaimed, patting his belly as
we shared the fruit-loaded yogurt. “Oh, you have some dessert on the side of your mouth.”

“Where?”
I asked, licking my lips. “Did I get it?”

“It’s just there,” he said, pointing.

“Here?” I wiped one of my cheeks.

“I could just take care of it for you,” he offered, leaning daringly close,
our lips suddenly inches apart. “Easy as pie—or yogurt.”

I
spluttered and leaned away. “I don’t think so, mister. My first kiss isn’t going to be because you’re trying to lick yogurt off of my face.”

“You’ve never been kissed?” Jonathan asked, cocking his head at
me. “How can that be possible?”

I
flushed and stared down at my hands. “Well, have you ever been kissed?”

“Ouch,” he said, covering his heart jokingly. “You got me right here,
Michelle. You know I don’t remember.”

My
blush deepened in shame. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what I was—of course you’ve been kissed before. I’m sure you have. You’re too hot not to ever have been—oh, God.”

Jonathan laughed as
I buried my face in my hands. “I love it when you get flustered,” he said. “There’s nothing cuter. Okay. I have a proposal for you.”

“Anything to redeem my awkwardness,”
I said, my voice muffled in my hands.

“Let’s be each other’s first kisses.”

I looked up him, not comprehending. “But it wouldn’t really be your first kiss,” I said. “You’ve had to have kissed someone before today.”

He shrugged. “Well, I don’t remember. This can be my first kiss. It’ll be special because it’s yours, too.”

Without further discussion, Jonathan took me by the tip of my chin and tilted my face upward, his lips meeting mine in the middle. His mouth was so soft that I practically melted into the kiss, pressing against him until we parted, our faces still very close to each other. I had the faint taste of berries on my lips.

“Did I ever even have yogurt on my face, or was that just your twisted ploy?”
I asked, smirking.

Jonathan’s tongue darted out, making contact with the corner of
my mouth. “Got it,” he said, licking his lips as I squealed with mirth and disgust.

But before
I could withdraw, he kissed me again, this time more deeply, parting my lips with his mouth, dipping the tongue he’d just licked me with into my mouth.

He tasted like dessert,
I decided distractedly, random thoughts flitting through my mind. No, better than dessert. It was better than that.

I
came up for air but he pulled me back down below the surface again, tangling his hand in my hair, sampling my lips, our kisses becoming more and more frantic before it was Jonathan who pulled away.

“I think that was my first, second, and third kiss,”
I said, dazed. “I don’t know. I think I lost count.”

“So what do you think about kissing?” Jonathan asked, smiling at
me, the light in his eyes dancing.

Feeling bold,
I crept toward him, scooting forward on the blanket. “I think it leads to even better things,” I said, cocking my head to plant a kiss on his strong, slightly stubbly jaw line. I realized that I’d been wanting to do that for a long time, whether either of us realized it or not.

I
thought he’d maybe take me in his arms, lay me on the blanket, and have his way with me, like the characters in my romance novels, but he surprised me by scooting away.

“
Michelle,” he said, regret in his voice. “We shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”
I asked, my heart curling into a ball inside of me. Maybe I was naïve to believe that he’d been able to look past my scar enough to want to actually have sex with me. The realization made me want to shrink into myself, run back to the cottage.

“Because you deserve better than me,” Jonathan said. It wasn’t the answer
I expected.

“There’s no one better than you,”
I protested.

“Wrong,” he said. “There’s just no one but me here. You deserve better than a broken man who doesn’t have any memories,
Michelle. You deserve only the best, and if you’ve never been kissed before today, I think it’s safe to assume you’ve never been with a man…like that.”

I
swallowed. “Well, you’re right about one thing. I am a virgin. But you’re wrong. It’s more than just being around you all the time, though I’ll admit that’s part of it. I like you being around. I like being around you. And I—I want more. I’m ready for more.”

“Your first time should be special,” he said. “And every time after that, too. You should never sell yourself short.”

I looked around, at the beautiful picnic setting, the wildflowers, at handsome Jonathan, at the golden light gilding the field, at the cottonwood puffs drifting around us.

“This is a special place and time,”
I said. “And I love you. I love you for being here with me. I want my first time to be with you.”

Jonathan made a sound in his throat and
crushed me to him, kissing my mouth to his, kissing me deeply. Then, he did lay me down on the blanket, not stopping his kisses. It was better than my romance novels.

“I love you,” he said, breaking
our kiss long enough to look into my eyes. “I want the best for you. You’re such a good person, Michelle. I just want to try to measure up to you.”

I
smiled and reached around his neck, drawing him back down to me for more kisses. I liked kissing. I could do it every day, I decided. It felt right. Everything about this felt right.

Gradually, achingly slowly, Jonathan rubbed his hands all over
my body, exploring with touch what he’d previously only looked at.

“I have a confession,” he said. “The day we went skinny dipping at the pool? I peeked. You have an amazing body,
Michelle. You’re the full package—beautiful, strong, caring.” With each word, he kissed me in a different part of my body, making me shiver.

“I peeked, too,”
I admitted.

“And?”

“You have a nice ass.”

Jonathan burst into laughter and then tickled
me playfully. I shrieked and giggled and tried to get away from his fingers.

“You have a nice ass, too,” he said. “So there.”

The build of tension, the build of arousal was a living thing as we undressed each other, but I surprised myself by not being nervous. We loved each other. We’d said so. Such a simple, true thing paved the way for everything else.

“Tell me and we’ll stop,” Jonathan said, breathing hard as
we both lay naked on the blanket, sounding like stopping was the exact opposite of he wanted to do.

“I never want to stop,”
I said. “Make love to me.”

Jonathan smiled and reached across
me, plucking a stalk of Queen Anne’s lace. He dragged the full, white blossoms over my breasts, making me shudder, making my nipples harden in spite of the heat of the day.

He kissed
me on my lips, then my throat, then my collarbone, my breast, my stomach, the very top of my dark blonde pubic hair. Then, he kissed me on my other lips, the act shockingly gratifying, electric in just how quickly my body responded, my pelvis thrusting up and into his face.

Jonathan smiled at
me and restrained my hips gently, dragging his tongue between my lips almost as if he were sampling the taste of me before circling my clitoris with his tongue. I moaned, the sound thick in my throat, and all I saw was blue sky dotted with white cottonwood puffs.