A Feast

Kieran stood by the edge of the forest, thinking about Rose's declaration.

The thought of letting her in was terrifying. Letting her get close meant risking everything—his control, his heart.

But Rose was relentless.

"Are you just going to stand there brooding, or are you coming with me?" Her voice pulled him from his thoughts.

He turned to see her standing with a wicker basket in one hand and a plaid blanket draped over her arm. Her face was set in determination, her eyes daring him to argue.

"A picnic?" Kieran raised an eyebrow. "You dragged me out here for a picnic?"

"Yes," she said simply, marching past him and spreading the blanket on a patch of grass. "You're going to sit, eat, and enjoy yourself. Or at least pretend to."

"I don't do picnics," he grumbled, but his feet betrayed him, moving to where she sat.

"You don't do a lot of things, Kieran. That's the problem," she teased, unpacking sandwiches, fruit, and lemonade.