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I raised a brow in question.
“Still not telling,” he smirked.
“Of course not,” I sighed, holding my hand out to take the blanket from him and open the door.
He jogged down the steps while I locked the apartment door.
“Let’s go in the Camaro,” he called.
“Sure,” I shrugged. I loved Trace’s classic ’69 Camaro. It may have been old, but it was extremely well taken care of.
I put the blanket on the back seat, along with his guitar case and the cooler.
I paid careful attention to the direction he was heading, hoping it would give me some kind of clue as to our destination.
“Are we heading back to the University?” I asked after a minute.
“No,” he chuckled, “but close.”
“Tell me,” I pleaded.
“Not happening, woman. Patience,” he rubbed his hand over his stubbled jaw.
“Wait…are we going to the park?”
“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!” He grinned.
He pulled into the gravel parking lot a few minutes later. We gathered our stuff, and he took my hand, leading me in the direction he wanted to go.
A huge smile spread across my face when I spotted the picnic table we’d sat on more than two years ago when I told him about my Live List. It had been hard for me to tell him about it, but even then I’d known I could trust Trace.
He didn’t stop at the table like I thought he was going to.
Instead, he found a shady spot under a nearby tree. He dropped the cooler on the ground and gently laid his guitar down as well. He took the blanket from my hands and spread it on the ground.
“Sit,” he commanded, pointing.
“Okay, bossy pants,” I laughed, but did as he said.
He dropped down beside me and opened the cooler. He handed me a bottle of sweet tea and a packet of sugar, “Just in case,” he chuckled.
He pulled out a bottle of water for himself and got out the sandwiches.
“So, this is your special plan?” I asked, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a huge bite. Not very ladylike, but I was starving, so screw manners.
“Oh, how you doubt me. The specialness hasn’t even begun yet,” he grinned mischievously. Uh oh.
“If you’re not trying to woo me with your mad sandwich making skills, what are you up to?” I questioned, finishing my sandwich. I hoped he had another hiding in there. I was still hungry.
Sure enough, he tossed me a second sandwich.
“I love you,” I leaned over and kissed his cheek before starting my second sandwich.
He chuckled. “Do you love me or my sandwiches? Because right about now I’m feeling a little jealous of the turkey sandwich.” I blushed, suddenly not wanting to finish it. Only Trace could make eating a sandwich sound sexual. “I do make a pretty good sandwich, which shouldn’t surprise you, because I’m awesome at everything I do.”
I sighed. “Sometimes, I think you talk just because you love the sound of your own voice.”
He bumped my shoulder with his. “My voice is amazing. I can’t help it if I think everyone should be gifted with listening to the sound of it.”
