Hints of a smile lingered on her lips as she spoke, but she turned her dark head away.  “It would never work,” she said in a soft voice, hoping for a light tone that belied her disappointment even as her eyes wandered back to meet his.   

He held her gaze for a moment, his blue eyes thoughtful, intense, before he looked down.  “Nah, not in a million years.” 

Blue met with brown again, then.  And slowly, slowly, he leaned forward, until his lips touched hers… 

Josephine March Bhaer.  Josephine March Bhaer.  Just like that.  Jo’s mouth curved into a smile, one that reflected her pleasure with the sound of her full name.  Her novel—and soon, she hoped, novels—carried that authorship.  She was proud of it, and, despite the difficulties she had encountered during her short life in New York after Laurie’s unexpected proposal, she felt the prolonged publication under her real name had been more than worth the struggle endured. 

Her finger traced a neat row of black ink words lining the top of the page.  Life around Plumfield had been pure chaos over the last week, and she had fallen behind with her Conscience Book entries.  Peace and quiet had come at last, however, following the completion of homework, dinner, chores, and Asia’s much-appreciated offer to remain in her domain and oversee while the last of the children finished “kitchen patrol,” as Emil had once dubbed it.  And Jo, eager for such moments, had grasped the opportunity without a second’s hesitation.  She loved the children as though they were her own, as well as the laughter and all around craziness that caring for them brought; but she savored those few and far between times when she could relax and ponder her thoughts.  For, in a curious sense of déjà vu, it reminded her of the late nights she had spent in the crowded attic at Orchard house, creating romantic stories of tragic love and damsels in distress conjured from the silly mind of a sixteen-year-old girl.   

Even in musing over sweet memories of childhood, Jo caught the slight movement near the French doors—the tall shadow that fell across the polished parlor floor.  Her heart stopped, cold with fear, as the same shadow moved, falling across her writing desk, darkening the pages of the conscience book.  She sat for a prolonged moment, unable to even breathe—the nightmares she had struggled to conquer coming back in an overwhelming deluge.  

“Jo?” 

Relief flooded her entire being. She knew that voice.  “Nick.” 

He leaned up against the doorframe in a relaxed stance and grinned, nodding his head as he folded his arms across his chest.  “Hey yerself.” 

Faint hints of red touched her cheeks at his tease.  “I wasn’t expecting you to pop out of nowhere,” Jo retorted in defense of herself, the smile on her lips lending next to no credibility to her words. 

Nick gave her a rueful look.  He knew Josephine Bhaer.  “I ain’t even gonna get inta that one.  But hey . . . d’ya got a minute?” 

His vague question aroused her curiosities.  Jo half-turned in her chair, pen resting in her hand.  Her motherly instinct kicked in then, however, overriding any sense of girlish adventure.  “Is something wrong?” she queried, a slight frown working its way between her dark brows.   

“No, no.” He shook his head.  “Nothin’s wrong.  I jus’ got somethin’ I wanna show ya is all.” 

Her brown eyes lit with undeniable interest.  “You do?” 

“Yep.” 

Nick’s complete nonchalance grated on her nerves.  How could he toss the bait, say something he knew would pique her interest, then act as if he had said nothing out of the norm? It was downright cruel.   

Nonetheless she bit.  “Well,” Jo straightened and tugged her shawl closer around her shoulders, though trying not to seem too eager, “I suppose I have . . . a minute.”   

He practically beamed.  “Good.  C’mon, then, I’ll show ya.  But ya gotta close yer eyes.  No peekin’,” he added, before she could protest. 

Finally conceding to his instruction, Jo stood and closed her eyes.  “How am I supposed to follow you, though,” she countered, “if I can’t see anything?”  Men could be so impractical sometimes. 

Nick ignored the roundabout complaint and reached for her hand, a charming grin crossing his features.  “I’m gonna lead ya there.  Now close yer eyes,” he ordered, amicable but gently firm.  “An’ I promise I ain’t gonna lead ya into a tree or off a cliff or nothin’.” 

A bit of a wry laugh made it past her lips despite her attempt to remain indifferent, almost petulant.  “I must confess I am quite relieved to hear that.  Although you probably would have been better not to have mentioned it at all, as it had not crossed my mind before you brought it up.”  He was such fun to tease. 

Eyes going heavenward, Nick shook his head and started forward down the hall, placing a work roughened hand at the small of her back while still holding her other.     

“Where are we going?” 

“Can’t tell ya.” 

“But why not?” 

“’Cause it’s a surprise.” 

“I’ll found out soon enough,” she felt compelled to remind, “Why not now?” 

“An’ why not later?  Ya said yerself ya’d find out soon enough.”  Her sigh brought an amused spark to his eyes.  “Yer just torturin’ yerself all the more, Jo.” 

Her chin lifted a bit but no response came.  In fact, she said nothing until raising question about why it took so long.  “Are we going outside?  Why are we heading out the front door?  Nick, you said no cliffs!” 

Nick swiveled around to look at her and, deriving from it that she had peeked pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.  Releasing her hand, he swiftly covered her closed eyes and tied it snugly at the back of her dark head.   

“A blindfold!?” 

“I told ya not ta peek,” he chided, tapping her chin.   

“I didn’t peek!” 

He did not believe her—how else was she to know that they were heading for the door?—but he didn’t voice his disbelief.  “Now jus’ let me do the leadin’ an’ everythin’ll be just fine.  Alright?  I promise.”  Hopefully that would assuage her apprehensions.  “Ain’t much longer now anyway.  But gosh . . . ” 

Jo smiled suddenly with great fun, touching her slender fingers to his arm so she might follow him.   

Nick shook his head, finished his comment, “Yer whinier than any baby I ever heard.” 

“Nick Riley!” she exclaimed.  

Her indignation made him chuckle.  He knew it would keep her quiet for a bit and did not speak again before leading her out on the front porch.  Once the door was closed behind them, he untied the blindfold and pressed her forward a little as he released her hand again.  “There ya are.” 

Blinking against the glowing darkness of the night, Jo’s mouth rounded in delighted but speechless surprise.  “Nick . . . ”  He made her feel so special. “You didn’t have to do all of this.” 

Little candles floated around in three small jars of water circled around a bouquet of wildflowers, their flames reflecting off the glass and casting light over the small setting.  A red-checked cloth had been arranged over the porch’s tea table and two places had been set, polished silverware glistening.   

Her voice was soft. “It’s beautiful.” 

Nick grinned, pleased that she liked it so much.  “Ya think so?  Asia helped me a little—‘specially with the food part of it.  An’ Amy helped a little with the decoration part, ‘cept I put m’foot down when she tried ta tell me I needed a frozen swan or somethin’ like that.”  He shook his head.   

Jo laughed.  “An ice swan?”  That was so like her youngest sister.   

Moving around then, the ex-Merchant marine pulled out a chair, making an attempted gallant gesture for her to sit down.  She bowed her head in appreciative acknowledgement and, tucking her skirt, sat, allowing him to assist her in scooting it back.  When he had taken his own seat, Jo look across at him, a tender expression on her face.   

“You really didn’t have to do this, Nick,” she said quietly, though so touched by his efforts.  “I know how much you hate formal—” 

“But I did have ta do it,” Nick interjected, then, at her befuddlement, he grinned and continued, “How else am I supposed ta court a lady if I don’t really even court her?” 

Jo warmed with quiet pleasure at his words. Courting.  But they were not really courting, were they?  They had kissed, but they had come to the mutual decision just before it that such a commitment would not work . . . hadn’t they?  

He was not completely finished, though.  “An’ this ain’t formal—maybe a little for me ‘cause I ain’t used ta this kinda thing but it ain’t formal, not like yer sister’s definition of it.” 

Her entire countenance changed and full-blown laughter erupted at that.  Jo clapped a hand to her mouth, unable to control her giggles and afraid of waking any of the children. “No.  I suppose it’s not, is it?” she queried, eyes dancing with a lighthearted twinkle. 

“Nope, it’s ain’t.  Not even in the small sense, no sir.” 

“Well, then . . . ” she looked up from smoothing the cloth napkin, a tranquil curve spreading along her lips.  “Shall we?  I’m starved.” 

“Really?  Funny thing.” Nick smiled casually. “I’m ‘bout near starved myself . . . ”

“Nan!” she whispered, dramatic thoughts starting to fill her mind.  “Nan, where are you?” 

“Shh!”  

“Nan?” 

“C’mere!”  The girl’s tone held an edge of excitement.  “You gotta see this.”   

Bess threw her warm quilts aside and stood, her white nightgown swishing softly around her ankles as she crossed the cold floor to Nan.  “What?” she asked in a quiet voice.  “Is something out there?” 

Nan turned from the window and looked at her best friend, blonde brows dancing in the darkness.  “Not somethin’—someone.  More like two someones.” 

“What?!”   

“Shh!”  

Interest piqued, Bess scooted closer, wanting to see what in blue blazes the other girl was talking about.  “Who?  Where?” 

“Down there.” 

Her fingers clutched Nan’s arm in girlish excitement.  “Nan!” she whispered, full comprehension dawning then.  “It’s Nick and Aunt Jo!” 

Nan nodded, grinning from ear to ear.  “Yep!  That’s what I wanted ya to see.” 

“What are they doing?” 

“You of all people should know, Bess.”  She rolled her eyes.  “They’re goin’ courtin’!”