Really, Luke absolutely should've expected to be pushed away, by one of her fields if not by her own two hands. She'd done it enough times, after all, and this was certainly a good occasion for it, since, she was right, he wasn't being precisely fair. He had said when you're ready. On the other hand, the strategy of waiting for Reagan to be ready to approach Luke was generally a poor one, as was shown by the fact that clearly the only reason that she'd agreed to take a walk with him in the first place had more to do with her mother than anything else.
But the thing was, she didn't push him, and that alone would've been surprising, if Luke had been concentrating at all on being surprised. He couldn't help but chuckle brightly--mostly from the kind of nerves that welled up in him when he felt, somehow, like he'd gotten away with something--when she pulled back, and he was halfway through a retort: "Gold rain. It's not my--" but fault was lost in the second kiss, and that was unexpected, but it wasn't as if he didn't adjust to it quickly, his body leaning into hers, pressing her gently back against the trunk of the tree, his hands skating upward to brush her cheeks.
"I think," he murmured, as he pulled away, "That it's gonna work."