Chapter Eighteen

Irene really wished Julia would have used another comparison rather than frogs. Irene couldn’t get the image of the cold, disgusting, slimy creatures out of her mind. Yes, she’d definitely kissed her share. She shuddered, as the blindfold was tied in place, and tried to stay calm as she was turned around and around in the center of the Great Hall. The first few turns, she kept count. After that, she gave over to the experience. When she was brought to a stop, she felt disoriented, which of course was the point, but her sense of hearing and smell were still fully functional.

The Great Hall was cloaked in silence. There were faint sounds of people padding past her, getting into position, and whispering for complete quiet. Irene blocked out those sounds, concentrating on getting her bearings.

The fragrant odor of burning wood in the stone fireplace came from directly behind her. Aromas of cloves and cinnamon drifted toward her from the dessert table on her right. Just orienting herself calmed her a little.

She wondered if Logan was present, then shook the notion from her thoughts. He wasn’t here. He wouldn’t play such a silly game. He had more important things on his mind. He was making sure his mother was okay.

Someone guided her away from the fireplace. She knew it was Bridget because of the gentle scent of gardenias. “Are you ready to meet the first contestant?” Bridget said. When Irene nodded, Bridget placed Irene’s hand on a man’s shoulder. He was about Irene’s height. She felt him lean forward and kiss her.

The sensation of his lips on hers was quick and abrupt. Like it might feel if she had kissed the back of her own hand. Irene shook her head, and pressed her lips together. Bridget guided her to the next guy. The second man seemed more formal. He gave her a peck on each check.

The next few men were a blur. One went in for a second kiss, but that was against the rules, and Bridget ordered him to leave and whisked Irene to the next man. The faint smells of spices filled the air as each kiss brought her closer to the dessert table. She knew the procedure now. Hand on the man’s shoulder, lean in, touch lips, wait for a reaction, and then move on to the next candidate.

The whole experience gave her time to analyze her own dating merry-go-round ride. Of course, physical attraction was part of the equation, but did she rely on it too much?

She realized she’d ignored some of the early warning signs with her ex-fiancé. She’d believed his excuses for the unexpected trips and the late nights at the office because, if she was being honest, her ex was movie-star gorgeous and successful. Even the shock of finding him with another woman hadn’t woken her the first time she’d caught him. After all, he’d vowed to change.

Their relationship had been such a sad cliché.

Her sister had finally penetrated the denial-fog she had been in with the simple question: “What would Mother say?”

As Bridget guided Irene’s hand onto the next candidate’s shoulder, she sensed that she was back to where she’d started. The man was taller than the others, his muscles more defined. She rose on tiptoes and tilted her head back, knowing he’d have to bend down to reach her. She didn’t have a strong enough hold on his shoulder and started to fall.

The man placed his hand on the small of her back to steady her. The protective gesture caught her off guard. She was the one who watched out for her co-workers and friends. Not the other way around.

He pressed his lips against hers, igniting a spark that took her by surprise.

The spark ignited into flame. She leaned in and deepened the kiss as his arms pulled her closer. Heat spiraled around her in ever-increasing speed. Enveloped in his embrace, she sensed the world dropping away. The only sound was her beating heart. An image of Logan flickered through her thoughts. But what if it wasn’t him?

A roar of laughter, mixed with a round of clapping and cheers, penetrated the haze as Bridget pulled Irene gently from her mystery man.

Irene knew the chill of loss. She hugged her arms around her waist and waited to find out his identity.

“The heart knows,” Bridget said as she untied Irene’s blindfold.

Irene kept her eyes shut as she clung to the fantasy. She wanted the man to be Logan. There didn’t seem to be any drama around him. The expression “What you see is what you get” came to mind. Was that real? Or part of the fantasy?

Bridget nudged her on the shoulder. “He’s waiting.”

Irene opened her eyes, rubbing them, more to delay the moment than any real need to focus. She wanted to see clearly. Doubts rushed in. Was that even possible when it came to the emotions of the heart?

She looked at the tips of her shoes first and then saw his leather boots.

Nondescript and like every other pair of boots she’d seen at this thirteenth century reenactment festival.

He wore a green tunic, which narrowed the field a bit. Her heart picked up speed.

Broad shoulders.

She felt out of breath, as though she were running through a snowstorm in a gale-force wind. Slow down, she cautioned.

Square jaw. Lips that curved in a familiar smile that shone in his eyes.

Her first reaction was excitement; the second was paralyzing terror.

“Logan.” His name rushed out as the doubts swept over her again. How was it possible to feel so much for someone so soon?