Page 36 of All Hale the Queen

I hold Ophelia’s hand as I drive. “Will you go on a date with me?” I blurt, and she snaps her head to me in surprise. “I don’t mean dinner at your house, though I always enjoy your cooking. But I’d like to take you on a proper date.”

Why do I sound as nervous as a schoolboy asking out the popular girl? Ophelia and I had been together for over two months now, and I’d never felt more connected to anyone.

“I would love to go on a date with you, Antonio,” she says softly, and my insides turned to utter mush.

I’m in love with this woman.

The thought strikes me like a thunderbolt that would have brought me to my knees if I had been standing. Though I’m pretty sure, if I’d examined my feelings more closely, I would have seen this coming.

I lift her hand and kiss the back of it. She smells so lovely, soft and beckoning to my male instincts.

Ophelia is quiet for a moment before adding, “People will see us.”

She’s been wanting to come forward with our relationship, but I’ve been hesitant. I work for her son, and if he reacted negatively to me being with his mother, I would be out of a job.

“I have a little place we can go. It’s north of town, and I thought we could spend a weekend there. It’s near a small town, so I doubt we would run into anyone you know.”

“If we did see someone, I would be proud to be with you,” she says so matter-of-factly, it’s impossible not to believe her.

“I want to tell everyone,” I assure her, “but maybe we should get through Christmas first. I don’t want to upset anyone during the holidays.”

She smiles at that. “I don’t think they would be upset, but we can wait until January if you want to.”

A sigh of relief pushes from my lungs. She knows her sons better than anyone. I just hope she’s not deluding herself into thinking they would be okay with our relationship simply because she wants it to be so.

***

On the second Friday of December, I drive north until we’re outside the city. I’d wanted to bring the Camaro, but they’re calling for possible snow, so we’re in the SUV with four-wheel-drive. We were able to get on the road early since I asked for the afternoon off, and the sun is slowly settling to rest on the high treetops.

Exiting the highway, I wind the vehicle around the curves of the farm-to-market road just as the first few flurries begin to fall.

“I’ve always enjoyed the snow,” Ophelia sighs, her eyes bright with excitement. “Even though we don’t get much of it in Texas.”

“Being close to the coast in Ireland, we didn’t get much either,” I reply, turning right down a much smaller road until I see the gravel driveway that’s almost hidden amongst the pine trees.

“How long have you had this place?” Ophelia asks, craning her neck to see around the bend.

“I bought it years ago when I started working for Remi, before we moved to London. There’s a couple who lives on the neighboring property, and I paid them to look after it while I was gone.” My eyes scan the evergreens lining the long drive. “I appreciate the amenities of living in the city, but I needed somewhere closer to nature. Somewhere just for me.”

Glancing over at Ophelia, I see she’s looking at me, her eyes gone soft. “Thank you for letting me come with you.”

“I’ve never brought anyone else here,” I tell her as I round the final curve, and the house comes into view.

“Oh my god,” Ophelia gasps, leaning forward in her seat. “Is this it? I thought you said it was small.”

I chuckle. “When I bought the place, only that central part was here.” I gesture to the timber home. “I expanded it out on both sides and added the second story. I guess to me, it still has small-house energy.”

“You did all that?” she asks, turning her head and looking at me with something akin to awe.

“Well, yeah,” I say, shifting the vehicle into park. “I had a professional do the plumbing and electrical work, but I did the rest myself. My neighbor, Dennis, helped with the things that were a two-person job.”

“I love it,” she says, leaping out of the car before I can even get out and open her door for her. I grab her wool coat from the backseat and get out, my grin spreading from ear-to-ear at her enthusiasm.

Ophelia is wearing a long ivory sweater over brown leggings, and knee-high brown boots complete the outfit. She’s already on the porch when I reach her and drape the coat over her shoulders. I ruffle her hair, dislodging a few snowflakes.

“This is gorgeous,” she says, running slender fingers across the smooth porch railing.

“It’s mostly original other than a couple rotted boards I had to replace.”