She pushed herself away from the tree and twirled around till she faced him. The light of the lanterns created shadows beneath his cheeks, nose, and jaw, making him look distinctly masculine—and dangerously handsome.

“You thought of everything,” she said, more than a little touched. “I’ll never want to leave.”

“Then don’t.” He stared back at her, his face impassive and intense. “You can stay as long as you want, Sophie.”

The ache in her chest flared again, but she managed a smile. “Why don’t we make the most of tonight?”

“Yes,” he said, shoving himself off the tree. “We’ll enjoy tonight.”

She took her time as she walked along the shore, reaching down to let the tall grass run between her fingers. Reese followed a short distance behind, as though he wanted to give her time and space to explore the lake as she wished.

When she reached the pier, she paused, taking a moment to savor the view. The planks stretched out before her, illuminated by lanterns on both sides. She glided down the pier with the same solemnity, the same wonder, as a bride marching down the aisle on her wedding day.

She hadn’t had much time to write in her journal of late, but she’d write about this. She needed to capture this feeling and preserve a little of the magic—to sustain her years from now, when her life would no doubt be tragically mundane.

Sophie walked to the very end of the pier, where she could almost imagine she floated in the middle of the lake. The quilts were spread there, side by side, with half a dozen pillows all around.

A nosegay of pink peonies tied with a white satin ribbon lay atop a sapphire silk cushion. She sank to her knees and lifted the bouquet to her face. “These are my favorites,” she said, looking up at Reese. “I don’t remember seeing a peony bush in the garden.”

He grinned at her as he sat on the other quilt. “They’re not from the Underworld. They’re from … someplace else. For you.”

“Thank you,” she breathed. She could already picture the blossoms pressed between the pages of her diary—along with the yellow rose and the flower crown she’d already tucked inside for safekeeping.

He gestured toward the basket. “Would you like something to eat? Maybe a glass of wine?”

“I’m not hungry, but please help yourself. And a glass of wine would be lovely.”

He poured a rich, purple-red claret into a pair of goblets and handed one to her. “Shall we have a toast?” he asked.

“I think we must,” she said, hoping he’d say something poignant and romantic … and also hoping he wouldn’t.

He frowned as he thought for a moment, then said, “To guard dogs named Rex, rainbow parasols, and you.” His eyes gazed deep into hers. “Your turn.”