11. Neesha
NEESHA
I ’ve changed outfits three times, which is ridiculous for something that’s not even a real date.
It’s just practice, a trial run that means absolutely nothing.
So why am I staring at myself in the mirror, fussing with my hair and wondering if this light sweater is too casual, or too dressy, or too… something ?
Henry tilts his head, watching me from my bed.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell him. “This is all Emmy’s fault.”
A knock startles me as Henry bolts for the door, barking once before his tail starts wagging like he’s greeting his long-lost best friend.
I take a deep breath, checking my reflection one last time before opening the door.
Lucian greets me in light-blue jeans and a charcoal henley that shows off those same muscled shoulders I spied through the window the other night. His hair is slightly tousled from the breeze and he’s wearing Vans sneakers and holding a jacket in case it gets colder.
And that’s when I notice he’s holding flowers. Not red roses, but a mix of deep-orange dahlias and golden sunflowers that practically glow like a sunset in the late afternoon light .
“Hi,” I say, hating that I sound out of breath because I’m nervous. I can’t ever hide my nerves—they just bubble up like shaken champagne.
“You look beautiful,” he says back, and for a second we just stand there, looking at each other. He breaks the spell first, holding out the bouquet. “Oh, this is for you. From the farm off the highway leading into town.”
“Wow,” I say, taking them and trying to ignore the way our fingers brush. That farm is a full twenty minutes away and you have to cut your own flowers, which means he actually made an effort for me.
“They’re beautiful,” I murmur before heading toward the kitchen, grateful for the chance to collect myself. It’s not the flowers that have me flustered; it’s the fact that he put thought into this. Autumn colors that match the season, nothing cliché, nothing over-the-top. Simple, but nice.
As I fill a vase for the flowers, I can hear him whispering to Henry, who’s probably rolled over for belly rubs by now.
Henry never liked Nate, which may have been a red flag I tried to ignore.
Of course, Nate wasn’t too fond of Henry either, but I learned an important lesson from my dog: Henry is never wrong about people.
As we start to leave, I ruffle Henry’s fur before stepping outside into the perfect fall day—crisp air, bright reds and golden yellows dotting the trees like a watercolor painting, while the scent of wood smoke and fallen leaves hangs in the air.
“I’ve got a game for us to play on the way,” he informs me as we head down the back stairs.
He turns to head along the riverside path that leads to the festival.
It’s less visible to the road, giving us more privacy and a better view.
The trail is one of my favorite things about living in Maple Falls, especially this time of year.
Old oak and maple trees arch overhead, their branches heavy with leaves in every shade of autumn, including that particular red that only happens in October.
Some of the leaves have already begun their lazy descent, carpeting the worn dirt path and crunching softly under our feet.
The wide creek runs alongside us, shallow and clear, babbling over smooth stones. Every so often, a leaf spirals onto the water’s surface, riding the gentle current like a tiny boat heading into the sunset.
“What kind of game?” I ask.
“It’s called ‘What’s My Perfect Date,’” he says as we round a bend where a wooden footbridge crosses the creek. The bridge rail is draped with wild grapevines, and beneath it, a family of ducks paddles contentedly in the deeper pool.
We pause for a moment to watch them, and I notice how the late afternoon light filters through the canopy above us. There’s something magical about this path in autumn—like walking through a living painting. In the distance, I can hear the faint sound of fiddle music drifting from the festival.
“I ask you a question, you answer,” Lucian says. “For educational purposes, of course. And in case I get quizzed about this date later.”
“Good thinking.” I hadn’t considered what might happen if people question whether this is a real date.
Actually, now that I think about it, going on a date with Lucian, real or not, to the Maple Festival could help with that grant application.
Plus, it would show everyone I’m finally over Nate.
All valid reasons to be seen with Lucian.
“We should probably look like we’re actually into each other, right?” I agree. “So ask away.”
“Okay, first question,” he begins. “Flowers or chocolates?”
“Flowers,” I answer without hesitation. “But not roses.”
“Too cliché,” he says, like he’s reading my mind.
“Am I just that predictable?”
“You don’t strike me as a girl who wants the typical things.”
“Really? How do you know?” I glance at him sideways.
His mouth quirks a little on one side. “Getting to know someone is all about paying attention to the details. You learn more from watching how they handle small moments than from anything they actually say.”
He steps aside on a narrow portion of the path to allow me to go first. “Next question: fancy restaurant or casual diner?”
I think about it as we walk along the path, the light dancing on the water. “Good question. First date is definitely casual. I want to see what he’s like when there’s no pressure.”
He notes it with a slight nod. “Dancing or a concert?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Neither.”
“Come on.” He nudges my shoulder, the contact sending a little joyous spark through me. “You have to pick one.”
“Fine. Concert. Dancing makes me feel like everyone’s judging my lack of coordination.”
He ponders this. “I bet the right partner would change everything.”
“I’m not sure any partner deserves the amount of embarrassment I’d bring him.”
“I doubt that,” he counters. “Any man would be lucky to have you as his partner.”
We move through a series of questions as we walk along the river’s edge.
He asks if I prefer coffee or tea (coffee, definitely, but it has to be good).
Perfect day indoors reading or outdoors exploring (both—maybe reading outside counts as the best of both worlds).
Hand-holding or arm around the shoulder (hand-holding, but only if he does that thing where he traces his thumb across your hand).
Sunrise or sunset (sunset, always). With every answer, he seems to mentally record my choices, like he’s collecting puzzle pieces, in order to see the whole picture.
When we finally reach the Maple Festival, it looks just as picturesque as last year—maybe even more so, since I swear Maple Falls adds more to it every year like they’re trying to win an award for quaint, small-town festival.
Twinkle lights, pumpkins, and hay bales line the paths, while booths filled with maple syrup, pumpkin desserts, and hot cider entice us to try the samples .
“Where to first?” Lucian asks.
“I wasn’t hungry until I smelled the mac and cheese,” I admit. “I forgot to eat lunch.”
“Actually, wait,” he says, stopping on the path for a moment. “Before we do this, we should probably have a code word. You know, in case you want to use that escape clause you mentioned.”
I stare at him. “A code word?”
“A secret phrase you can say if you want to leave, but don’t want to make a scene in front of everyone. That way I can gracefully help you exit without it being obvious.”
I think about it for a second. “That’s actually really thoughtful. What did you have in mind?”
“Well, it should be something that might come up naturally, but would be obvious to me.” He studies me for a moment. “How about something baking-related? Like…‘the icing on the cake.’”
I tilt my head. “That could actually work in normal conversation.”
“Exactly, but it’s not something you’d randomly bring up unless you really meant it.” His mouth curls up at the corner. “Plus, it fits you.”
I look at him, then glance away, appreciating his careful consideration of my needs. “Having a code word would be the icing on the cake.”
He smirks. “You’re ready to leave right now?”
I take a deep breath. “Yes…okay, no. I want to do this, Lucian. I just need to get over my nerves. Especially if I run into Nate and Brittany.”
“Even if we don’t, I’ll know it’s time to make our exit if you start talking about icing.
I don’t just want to be the guy next door, Neesha.
I want to be the one place you never have to wonder if you’re safe.
” He reaches for my hair and for a heart-stopping moment I think he’s going to cup my face.
Instead, his fingers slip through the strands near my temple, carefully extracting a small leaf while his thumb accidentally brushes against my cheek.
“From our walk,” he says, holding up the small red leaf that reminds me of his tattoo.
We head to the food trucks, where I order a gourmet mac and cheese and Lucian gets pulled pork with apple slaw. A picnic table opens up and we settle in with our food, listening to a nearby fiddle play an Irish jig.
“So, what’s the verdict so far?” I ask. “Am I passing this practice date test?”
“With flying colors,” he says. “Though I have to say, this doesn’t feel hard like practice.”
“No?” I ask, suddenly aware of how close we’re sitting.
“No. It feels like…” He pauses, searching for the right words. “The kind of date I’d actually want to go on.”
“Careful,” I warn. “Comments like that might make a girl think you’re actually interested.”
It just feels natural with Lucian. Easy. So unlike my dates with Nate.
I look up to see Emmy approaching us with Dawson, her expression way too pleased. “Well, well. Fancy seeing you two here… together. ”
“What a coincidence,” I say, giving her a look that says we’ll be discussing this later.
“Dawson, you’ve met Lucian, right?” she asks motioning toward her fiancé.