I haven’t been in a relationship for so long, and clearly the one I had been in before wasn’t exactly healthy. The last thing I want to do is make her upset, give her insecurities. But I also don’t want to ruin the day I have planned.
I decide to hold off, getting the food out until later when we can talk.
I zip up my pants and grab a bottle of hand sanitizer and wash my hands before reaching for my shirt and putting it back on. I open the basket and pull out the folded wooden board and place it on the blanket.
“What did you do?” Mikayla asks, getting to her knees, trying to peek into the basket. I swat her away.
“This is what I was doing this morning,” I explain. “I wanted to do something special. But I didn’t have the stuff for a picnic.”
“Caine,” she whispers as I place the cheeses and meats on the board.
I pull out the bottle of wine and remove the cap. Yes, it’s a twist off, fuck off, I bought wine.
I pour a glass and hand it to her, then sit back and take a sip of the glass I poured for myself. I quirk a brow. It’s not terrible. Actually, it’s quite good.
“Caine?” Mikayla asks, her gaze locked over my shoulder.
I look at her and see the confusion on her face and a small frown on her lips.
“What do you see?” I ask.
“You—thirty years into the future—walking toward us right now.”
Fuck! My pants!
I kneel and buckle my belt. The unmistakable chuckle from my father carries over the wind, and I cringe like a teenager caught with his pants down.
Yeah, I know. I’m a grown-ass man who was caught with his pants down.
I jump to my feet and walk to my dad. “What are you doin’ here?” I whisper angrily, unable tomask my annoyance. I rode out here for privacy!
“Well, hello to you, too,” my father says, ignoring me and walking straight to Mikayla.
Thank God she’s completely dressed, but for her shoes.
“So, you’re the reason my son is only half as ornery as usual,” he says before crashing our picnic and sitting down beside Mikayla.
My mouth drops open when he grabs a slice of salami from the cutting board.
“I’m Mikayla,” my girl says with a smile. “You’re Mr. Montgomery,” she smiles, extending her hand.
“Franklin, darlin’,” my dad says.
“Franklin,” Mikayla repeats with a nod of her head. “But Caine… ornery?” she asks, turning her attention back to me. “You’re not ornery,” she defends.
Obviously, I smile. This woman is something else, defending my ass. I’ve been an asshole lately, that I can’t deny.
I walk back over and sit beside her, pulling her against me. I kiss her brow.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” I say with a smile.
“If he isn’t ornery, what would you call it? The man’s been unbearable for the better part of fifteen years. Sorry, Mikayla, you’re wrong. Your boyfriend here is an asshole,” my dad says, grabbing another slice of salami then licking his fingers.
He doesn’t smile—doesn’t show any sign that he’s joking.
I laugh out loud when Mikayla slaps his hand away when he moves to grab more.
“Hey, he’s your son,” she scolds, though quietly, almost like she’s shocked he said those things about me.
