Act Your Age, Eve Brown (The Brown Sisters #3)(102)

She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, I had anticipated your arrival. You would never let Danika go without snacks under circumstances such as these.”

Zaf’s mouth tilted into one of his tiny, subtle smiles. “Hm. You got me there.” He held two giant cones, just like Red, and he gave one to Dani. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

Eve frowned. “Sorry? Go where?”

“Away,” Dani said mysteriously, waggling her purple eyebrows. Since it was summer break, she’d experimented with matching them to her hair. “Cheer up, Evie-Bean. I’m sure you’ll get an ice cream, too, eventually.”

“Oh yes,” Chloe agreed as Redford helped her up. “But probably not until after—”

“All right, Button, let’s be having you,” Red said, and dragged her bodily away.

Suspicious. Very suspicious.

“Erm,” Eve began.

“See you later!” Dani waved over her shoulder as she and Zaf followed suit.

“Erm,” Eve repeated.

“Remember your angles, my clever little communion wafer,” Gigi called across the grass, waving her camera.

“Pardon?”

“Smize,” Shivani advised, and then she and Gigi turned resolutely away.

Eve sat at her suddenly abandoned table for a good few minutes, feeling slightly dazed. Around her, the Gingerbread Festival continued: there were floats designed by the local schoolchildren traveling slowly down the cordoned-off road to her left, all themed around local history. To her right were the other stalls that made up the festival: ice cream stands, various restaurant stalls, and, of course, the actual gingerbread area.

And behind Eve . . .

Behind Eve stood the man she always felt before she saw. A familiar, golden thread wrapped tight around her stomach as she caught the clean, lemon and eucalyptus scent of him.

“Jacob,” she said softly, tipping her head back.

He smiled down at her, both hands filled by a pair of ice cream cones. “Hello, Sunshine.”

“I knew you’d get me one,” she beamed.

“Raspberry ripple.” He pressed a cone into her hand. “You’re welcome.”

“And you’re in my good books. Come sit with me,” she ordered, “and gaze upon all this gingery splendor.”

“You want me to gaze upon . . . your brother-in-law?” he asked as he sat down.

Eve snorted. “That was rather good.”

“Thank you. I try.” They sat practically on top of each other, their bodies pressed together from shoulder to hip to thigh. Jacob’s arm found its now-familiar place around her waist, his other hand wrapped around his own ice cream cone. But unlike Eve, who’d already fallen upon her raspberry ripple with animal enthusiasm, he wasn’t eating.

He was simply watching her.

His eyes were melting frost behind the frames of his glasses. His lower lip gave under the pressure of his teeth. “Eve,” he said. “I have something to ask you.”

She swallowed a mouthful of ice cream and looked over at Castell Cottage’s stall, where her parents stood watching, Gigi hovering in the background with her camera at the ready.

“Erm,” Eve said. “You’re not going to propose, are you? Because I’m still wearing my hairnet, and also, I might get excited and throw my ice cream at you.”

Jacob stared blankly at her for a moment, and she felt the first nervous flush of embarrassment. Whoops. She probably shouldn’t ask people if they were going to propose. But then again, this was Jacob, and if the last year had taught her anything, it was that she could ask Jacob whatever she wanted. Tell him whatever popped into her head. Do whatever took her fancy. So long as she loved him all the while, he would forever love her back—and his love was, above all, comfort.

So she flicked the embarrassment away.

Finally, he blinked back to life and released a surprised little laugh. “No,” he said. “No, I wasn’t going to propose. But, er, just for the sake of research—if I did, and you weren’t wearing a hairnet, and there wasn’t any ice cream to throw . . .” A lovely blush spread across his cheeks. “Would you say yes, Evie?”

Giddy pleasure sloshed about in her stomach, rather like champagne on a Jet Ski. “Erm,” she squeaked. “At the risk of seeming overeager, I do believe I would.”

“Good.” Jacob sounded deeply satisfied. “Hang on a second.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, opened up the notes app, and started typing. She peeked over his shoulder and saw the words: NO ICE CREAM.

Then he tutted at her and closed the app. “Oi. Nosy.”

“Jacob, are you writing a proposal plan?”

“Nosy,” he repeated, but he was grinning. “Now, as I was saying before you disrupted proceedings—”

“Jacob.” Eve was smiling so wide her face hurt, and it was entirely this man’s fault.

“Eve,” he shot back, arching one severe eyebrow. “Listen.”

“Fine, fine!” She schooled her features and cleared her throat. “Yes, Mr. Wayne? How may I help you?”

“You already help me, Ms. Brown. Which is why I got you this.” Setting aside his phone, Jacob fiddled in his pocket again and produced . . . a name tag? It was burgundy and gold, rather like the one Eve already wore. He dropped it into her outstretched palm, and she examined it more closely.