Shaking her head, Joanne turned and walked back into the kitchen, unwilling to indulge Fiona’s curiosity.
But Fiona was nothing if not persistent. "Co on... You can tell ..." she whined, trailing after her like a determined detective.
Joanne ignored her, busying herself with checking the oven. The scent of the slow-baking atloaf filled the kitchen, warm and rich.
Fiona gagged suddenly.
Joanne turned just in ti to see Fiona press a hand over her mouth, a queasy look on her face. Without another word, she hurried out of the kitchen.
Morning sickness must be hitting hard, Joanne thought with mild amusent.
Leaning back against the counter, she let out a slow breath, tilting her head up to the ceiling.
JD loved her atloaf.
And...
He loved atloaf.
Her heart clenched slightly.
He had told her that once. A simple thing, a passing comnt. Oddly, she still rembered it. And every conversation they had that day.
But also...
She closed her eyes, and the mory washed over her, vivid and unrelenting, as if it had happened just yesterday.
For the first ti in her life, she had worn a brand-new, poofy dress—a gift from Philip Winchester’s quiet generosity. It was the kind of dress little girls dread about, soft and flowing, making her feel like a princess in a storybook.
And for that one day, she had acted like one.
Liam had gotten mad at her. He didn’t like the way she pranced around, basking in the attention, lost in her own little fantasy. So he had left.
But he was with her the entire day.
Jeffrey Winchester.
All day long, he had followed her, his cara clicking as she twirled through the fields, her laughter ringing through the golden afternoon.
"As you wish," he had said, again and again, like a lovestruck farmhand from that movie, indulging her every whim.
And for Joanne—who had spent her entire life dancing to the whims of others, always careful, always cautious, the ever-grateful Orphan Annie—being treated like a princess was a happiness too vast, too overwhelming to contain.
He had made her feel special.
He had made her feel like she belonged.
When the sun dipped low in the sky, painting the world in warm amber hues, she had turned to him with a mischievous glint in her eye.
"Go find my prince," she had commanded.
Jeffrey... stilled.
The redheaded boy, his freckles glowing softly in the fading light, stood beneath the sprawling oak tree, his cara swaying slightly against his chest. Although he was the sa age as Liam, he wasn’t that much taller than her. His green eyes—bright, full of mischief all day—had suddenly darkened, shifting into sothing deeper, sothing unreadable.
Joanne had felt it then. That unfamiliar tightening in her chest. A clenching, an ache she hadn’t understood.
Then, for the first ti that day, he didn’t say, As you wish.
Instead, he had taken a step closer, his voice firm, unwavering.
"You’re the prettiest girl in the whole world."
Her breath had caught.
Joanne’s breath hitched as the mory unfurled in her mind, raw and breathtakingly vivid.
Then, with all the confidence of a boy who had never known heartbreak, he had grinned.
"I’ll be your Prince Charming, and I’m going to marry you. It’s a promise."
And before she could react—before she could scoff or laugh it off as childish bravado—he had taken the cara from his neck, removing the film with careful precision and tucking it away.
Then, just as she was about to tease him, just as she was about to tell him to go find her prince, he stepped closer.
Too close.
Her heart had begun a wild, erratic rhythm against her ribs. Without thinking, she had tried to take a step back, to create so distance—because sothing about this mont felt too much, too new, too unfamiliar.
But he caught her hand.
Softly. Gently.
His fingers wrapped around hers, warm and steady, and Joanne flinched at the sensation. She wasn’t used to it—the feeling of being held like that. Like she was sothing delicate, sothing treasured.
Then, with that sa quiet certainty, that sa knowing glint in his green eyes, he slipped the cara over her neck.
"Keep it safe for ," he murmured.
Then he leaned in—just slightly, just enough that she could see every fleck of gold in his eyes.
"I’ll marry you when I get it back."
Her pulse roared in her ears.
She knew she was blushing. She could feel it in the way her cheeks burned, in the way the sumr air suddenly felt too thick, too heavy. She didn’t even understand why she felt this way, only that she did.
And he knew it.
Jeffrey tilted his head, studying her like she was sothing endlessly fascinating, and then his grin widened.
"You’re red like a cherry tomato..."
Joanne’s breath caught in her throat.
And before she could comprehend what was happening—before she could prepare herself—he leaned in further.
So close.
Too close.
She didn’t have ti to move.
Didn’t have ti to think.
His nose brushed against her cheek, and then—warmth.
A fleeting, delicate warmth pressed against her lips.
Her entire body stilled.
Her heart—her foolish, unprepared heart—stumbled, then stopped altogether.
It was nothing. Just a whisper of a kiss, the barest graze, a fleeting press of lips that barely lasted more than a heartbeat.
And yet—
And yet it was everything.
Everything else blurred. The world, the sounds, the golden hues of the setting sun—all of it faded into nothing.
All that remained was warmth.
The warmth of his hands enveloping hers, steady and sure. A touch that sent a quiet tremor through her, reaching places in her heart she hadn’t known could feel.
And then, there was the warmth of his lips.
Soft. Fleeting. Like the brush of a sumr breeze.
Yet it seeped into her, sinking deep, settling in the quietest corners of her soul.
She didn’t understand it then—the way sothing so brief, so innocent, could leave such an ache behind. A lingering warmth, a quiet promise, a mory she knew she would carry forever.
His hands. His lips. His words.
She hadn’t known it was possible to feel so much in a single heartbeat.
Bliss.
Her first kiss was pure bliss.
Not deep, not desperate, not demanding. Just a flicker of sothing innocent yet thrilling, a mont that she knew—even then—would stay with her forever.
When he pulled away, she stood frozen, still trying to process what just happened.
Jeffrey chuckled softly, and when she looked up, he was grinning. That sa easy, confident grin, like he had just won sothing.
"Rember this and be good."
He reached up and tapped the cara hanging around her neck, right over her heart, his fingers lingering for just a second too long.
"You’re mine."
Then, with an impish gleam in his eyes, he smirked.
"You even stole my first kiss."
You are mine...
Joanne’s chest ached at the mory, a dull, bittersweet pang that spread through her ribs and settled deep in her bones.
She lifted a trembling hand to her cheek, only then realizing that tears had slipped free.
"You forgot it all..." she whispered, her voice breaking.
A sob climbed up her throat, silent but searing.
"F*ckig scumbag!"
Her whole body hurt with the weight of it—with the weight of him.
Fiona clutched her skirt seeing Joanne curled down on the floor, crying. She almost stepped in but decided not to. If he went in there now, Joanne would be more embarrassed than accepting her comfort.
Poor girl...
The oven tir beeped, snapping Joanne back to the present.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to move, to breathe. To forget. Wiping her tears, she pulled out the tray. The atloaf was cooked to perfection.
But her heart...
She poured herself a glass of whiskey and downed it in one gulp.
A deep sigh left her heart.
F*ck you, Liam... Why did you have to remind what I almost forgot? Why did you remind of my first crush?
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