dropped her gaze to the floor as one of her sketches fluttered down.
He picked it up but didn’t return it. “Now?” he asked, knowing she hadn’t forgotten the subject, but was, for some reason, evading it.
She shrugged. “Whatever this year’s fundraising is used for.”
“Which will be?”
If she’d looked wary a moment ago, now she looked downright trapped. Then, as if making some kind of mental transition, she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and met his gaze head-on. “The purpose varies from year to year, but it always benefits the whole community.”
He frowned. What was so difficult about telling me that? Instead of asking, he said, “How are those funds raised?”
“People rent booths to sell things. Visitors come from all over to attend the festival,” she said. “They camp, stay aboard their boats, some even fly in and book hotel or bed-and-breakfast rooms for miles around. The population of Madrona Cove quadruples for that weekend. We really need a bigger park to hold them all. Of course, the more visitors we get, the better we like it since we get a percentage of sales for the community fund, in addition to booth rental.
“Then, we have the community sponsored events. They don’t rent booths, but all their earnings go into the fund. Like the dunk tank, er, I mean the witch dunking stool, and—”
He laughed, interrupting her. “Witch dunking stool?”
“In a manner of speaking.” He liked the sparkle in her eyes. A second later he didn’t like the way she was eyeing him, though, as if sizing him up to see what kind of splash he’d make. “It’s what we’re calling it this year, in keeping with the Medieval theme.”
“Who gets dunked?”
“Anyone who volunteers to get soaked fully clothed.”
“You have people selling things, you have contests, you have games. I’ve got a great idea. Will you rent me a booth?”
A frown creased her brows. “What for?”
He dropped to one knee before her. “I’m thinking of running a Cinderella search.”
She stared down at him and clutched the edge of the desk as he took her warm bare foot in both hands. Her eyes widened. “Really? And what would that entail?”
He stroked his finger from her heel to her toes. It was a very appealing foot. Funny, he’d never taken much notice of feet before. But then, he was a leg-man, and while feet belonged on legs, until this week, he hadn’t spent much time thinking about them. Or looking at them. Or touching them. But he wanted, quite badly, to stroke Lissa’s foot, cuddle it on his lap, play with her pink toes, kiss the arch and—
He stopped himself, knowing what painful and unrelieved physical response he was going to suffer if he didn’t. “Discovering my secret princess,” he said
“Seems to me,” she retorted, “we’ve had this conversation before. So I suggest you get up off your knees before you do something really dumb, like proposing. That’s what happened the last time a man got on his knees in front of me.”
“And did you accept?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly.
“What do you think?” she said. “I was twenty years old. The man was on his knees, for heaven’s sake. He had a diamond ring in a little blue box. Of course I accepted.”
He had to laugh, and suddenly a tension he hadn’t been fully aware of, snapped. She seemed to have a knack for doing that to him. Feeling stupid, he hauled himself back to his feet. “Oh, well, yes, I can see how that would force an acceptance out of you.”
He ran a thumb over her ringless fingers. Touching Lissa Wilkins was like walking on hot coals. Because he didn’t believe for one second he could do it without getting burned, he likely would.
“What happened to him?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” she said, slipping her hand free. “We were engaged for something like three months. He liked the chase and the proposal so much he did it three or four times a year with three or four different
He picked it up but didn’t return it. “Now?” he asked, knowing she hadn’t forgotten the subject, but was, for some reason, evading it.
She shrugged. “Whatever this year’s fundraising is used for.”
“Which will be?”
If she’d looked wary a moment ago, now she looked downright trapped. Then, as if making some kind of mental transition, she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and met his gaze head-on. “The purpose varies from year to year, but it always benefits the whole community.”
He frowned. What was so difficult about telling me that? Instead of asking, he said, “How are those funds raised?”
“People rent booths to sell things. Visitors come from all over to attend the festival,” she said. “They camp, stay aboard their boats, some even fly in and book hotel or bed-and-breakfast rooms for miles around. The population of Madrona Cove quadruples for that weekend. We really need a bigger park to hold them all. Of course, the more visitors we get, the better we like it since we get a percentage of sales for the community fund, in addition to booth rental.
“Then, we have the community sponsored events. They don’t rent booths, but all their earnings go into the fund. Like the dunk tank, er, I mean the witch dunking stool, and—”
He laughed, interrupting her. “Witch dunking stool?”
“In a manner of speaking.” He liked the sparkle in her eyes. A second later he didn’t like the way she was eyeing him, though, as if sizing him up to see what kind of splash he’d make. “It’s what we’re calling it this year, in keeping with the Medieval theme.”
“Who gets dunked?”
“Anyone who volunteers to get soaked fully clothed.”
“You have people selling things, you have contests, you have games. I’ve got a great idea. Will you rent me a booth?”
A frown creased her brows. “What for?”
He dropped to one knee before her. “I’m thinking of running a Cinderella search.”
She stared down at him and clutched the edge of the desk as he took her warm bare foot in both hands. Her eyes widened. “Really? And what would that entail?”
He stroked his finger from her heel to her toes. It was a very appealing foot. Funny, he’d never taken much notice of feet before. But then, he was a leg-man, and while feet belonged on legs, until this week, he hadn’t spent much time thinking about them. Or looking at them. Or touching them. But he wanted, quite badly, to stroke Lissa’s foot, cuddle it on his lap, play with her pink toes, kiss the arch and—
He stopped himself, knowing what painful and unrelieved physical response he was going to suffer if he didn’t. “Discovering my secret princess,” he said
“Seems to me,” she retorted, “we’ve had this conversation before. So I suggest you get up off your knees before you do something really dumb, like proposing. That’s what happened the last time a man got on his knees in front of me.”
“And did you accept?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly.
“What do you think?” she said. “I was twenty years old. The man was on his knees, for heaven’s sake. He had a diamond ring in a little blue box. Of course I accepted.”
He had to laugh, and suddenly a tension he hadn’t been fully aware of, snapped. She seemed to have a knack for doing that to him. Feeling stupid, he hauled himself back to his feet. “Oh, well, yes, I can see how that would force an acceptance out of you.”
He ran a thumb over her ringless fingers. Touching Lissa Wilkins was like walking on hot coals. Because he didn’t believe for one second he could do it without getting burned, he likely would.
“What happened to him?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” she said, slipping her hand free. “We were engaged for something like three months. He liked the chase and the proposal so much he did it three or four times a year with three or four different
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