"Can we not let him ruin today? Anymore than he has, I mean.”
“Are you sure you still want to do this?”
“Yes. Please. I would love to forget this and focus on whatever scheme you and Calida came up with. Please, Flint.”
Who am I to deny her?
She gets to her feet and gestures to herself. “Is this okay?” She turns in a circle.
“You’re beautiful, as always.”
Pretty color stands out in her cheeks, although she’s still too pale for my liking. “Thank you. But I meant does this outfit work for whatever you had planned?”
I take in her clothing. “Are you comfortable?”
"…yes? I mean, I’ll grab a hoodie in case I get chilly.”
I nod and cross to grab the bag we’ll need. I work up a smirk, locking the rest of my rage into a mental box. “Then you’ll do.”
He leadsme through the streets of town, nodding or offering a smile in response to someone calling out, while I wave. All patrons of the bookshop, I note. Of course, those same people will note that we’re together and tongues will be wagging before long. It’s lovely, though. However Flint came to be in my life and in this town, he’s making relationships, friendships. It’s nice to see. Maybe he’s setting down roots.
This gives me pause, and causes me to stumble over a crack in the sidewalk. Flint cuts his eyes towards me, as if to check that everything’s okay. I offer him a small smile and he squeezes my hand in return.
We’ve never talked about the permanency of our situation. He just showed up one day a few months ago, and now he’s a constant fixture in my life. We’ve never talked about where he’s planning to go, much less tried to define this budding relationship or whereweare hoping to go.
Shut up, I tell myself. Today is not the day to start dreading and nitpicking and doing your downward doom spiral. The sun is shining, it’s absolutely beautiful outside and you have the hottestmanmale you’ve ever seen leading you toward a surprise. One he is next to giddy about.Let it go and take the moment, Cas. Fuck.
I put all my negative thoughts and could be’s into a mental pirate chest and slam the lid. Therapy taught me very little, but that one skill I’ve got down pat.
When I pull my attention back to the present, I realize that Flint has led me through town and to the local park.
The park has been one of my favorite places since I arrived in town. Lush grass covers almost the full acre, with winding paths for walking or cycling that lead into the thick cropping of trees. There’s a small play area off to one side and I can hear the giggles of happy children as we pass. There are beds with riots of flowers growing, an explosion of color and scent. There are plenty of established trees, throwing shade that would be perfect for napping or reading under. I’ve done both plenty, although my napping in a public park did cause quite a ruckus so I try to just stick to reading.
Flint continues to the very edge of the tree line, where the denseness of the forest halts against the bright green of early summer grass. Finally, he puts down the bag he’s lugged across town. Opening it, he pulls out a giant throw and spreads it out before us on the grass,then pulls out two pillows and tosses them down. He holds my hand for balance as I slip off my sneakers, and motions for me to take a seat.
Willing to oblige, I plop my butt on one pillow and watch as he finishes unloading his surprise.
A picnic basket. One of those old-timey ones made of brown wicker. He sets it aside. A giant bottle of water follows, as does one small, personal pan sized pizza. Another, smaller blanket. A portable speaker. A book that looks familiar, but the cover is hidden by his large palm and he set it next to his thigh, where it’s out of my view. Finally, he pulls out a single lily, so dark it appears almost black.
Sir.
I swallow thickly and reach out to accept the lily. It’s perfectly formed, it smells sweet and light. I can’t resist sniffing before brushing the petals against my cheek.
“Thank you. It’s perfect,” I say, softly.
His eyes are warm as he takes my other hand in his and brings my fingers to his lips. “So are you.” he replies, brushing his lips against my knuckles.
While I unravel all that just did to my thoughtsandmy insides, he releases my hand to finish setting up.
My stomach has that warm, knotted up sensation because could he be any sweeter? I’ve read many,manybooks and I don’t think any of the romance authors I’ve filled the shelves with at home could have written a sweeter, more perfect man. Sorry, male. Male. I need to keep reminding myself that he isn’t just a man, despite no real evidence to the contrary — other than the fact that he came into my life with a lapdog sized dragon.
More than his physical attractiveness (although — boy, howdy — is the male perfect in that regard), is hisability topay attention.He listens when I talk. Rather than trying to fix something that might be wrong, he’s willing to just sit and listen while I express my thoughts or my feelings. Hetakes care.He notices things and does them, without having to be asked. He notices me, pays attention tome,and gives me care and consideration like I’m the only person he cares about.
I’m sure that’s not true. While we’ve stayed away from conversations about our families, specifically because trying to explain my situation is painful, I’m sure he has family out there, somewhere. But he treats me like I’m the center of his existenceand we aren’t even a couple.
Well, shit. Maybe we are, especially since he’s spent every night since our fateful night out at the bar both in my bed andme.But we’ve never defined it.
Not that I’d be opposed to the idea, I muse, eying the growing spread before me. To love and be loved by him, even if it’s only temporary? I have a feeling, from the depth of my being, that that would be a gift, so precious that it feels wrong to even consider it.
