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“Fine,” he sighs, stopping just before we get to the end. “I’m trying to seduce you and figured something like this would help.” His lips twitch.
“Now why is it that reason I believe so much more than the others?”
Putting down the basket, he grabs the end of the blanket I hand him and we both spread it out.
“Hey, I may be trying to seduce you, but it’s still nice out here, and you can’t say this isn’t romantic.”
Reluctantly, I have to agree with him. It is nice out today. The sun is starting to set, and the temperature is just beginning to cool down. This time of year can still be pretty hot some days, but in the evenings, it cools off. It’s a nice change to the sweltering heat in the
summer.
I also have to admit, this is romantic. Picnics, no matter the location, are romantic. And this one is especially so, because of the beautiful flowers surrounding us.
“So, is it working?” He takes a seat and starts pulling items out of the basket.
I sit beside him and smirk. “Maybe, but there’s still hours left of the day. There’s no telling what could happen in that time.”
He chuckles and hands me a plate filled with small rolls of different kinds of sliced meat, tiny blocks of cheese, grapes, and strawberries with their leaves cut off.
“So tell me,” I say around the block of cheese I just tossed in my mouth. “Did you prepare all this or did you grab an already prepared tray from the store?”
He sucks in a breath and clutches his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Gypsy. Don’t you have faith in my food prep skills?”
Popping a grape in my mouth, I smile. “Nope. This just looks too perfect to be made by anyone other than someone who does it for a living.”
His eyes twinkle. “You’d be right,” he replies sheepishly. I can’t help but laugh.
We sit and eat for a few minutes, the only sound is the lapping of the water against the deck, birds chirping, and the occasional splash of a fish.
I gesture with the tip of my water bottle toward a boat pulled up on the grass close to the edge of the water. “Do you ever go out onto the lake?”
“Not as much as I used to.”
“That’s a shame. My dad used to take me out on his boat every weekend when I was a kid. It was just me, him, and the fish we’d catch. We never left without enough fish for at least several meals.”
“Sounds like you had a good time on those weekends.”
“Some of the best.” I smile, slipping another grape in my mouth. “What about you? Are you close with your dad?”
The look that comes across his face sends shivers racing down my spine. Never have I seen such animosity in a person’s eyes before. A chunk of the grape gets stuck in my throat, and I cough to dislodge it. If that look were ever directed at me, I’d be scared down to my bones. Thankfully, it’s not. It saddens me because I know the look stems from thinking of his father.
“No,” he grunts. “My dad was a bastard from hell.”
“Was?” I ask quietly.
His eyes lift to mine. “Yes. He’s exactly where he should be. In Hell.”
Reaching over, I place my hand on his. “I’m sorry.”
“Why? It’s a wasted emotion when it comes to that man.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry because whatever he did to you must have been awful for you to carry so much hatred inside you.”
“It’s not what he did, it’s what he didn’t do. Him and my mother.”
My heart aches for JW. I want nothing more than to go to him, wrap my arms around him, and offer whatever comfort I can. His body is too stiff for something like that though. I want to ask him to elaborate. I’m curious what the two people did who were supposed to love and cherish their child, but I hold back my question. Something tells me whatever is was, it was horrendous.
Wanting the lighter conversation of before, I suggest playing Would You Rather. His lips twitch, and I’m glad to see some of the darkness leave his eyes. The game may sound childish, but it’s a really good way to get to know someone. For instance, I now know JW would rather eat bugs than cottage cheese, go skydiving over bungee jumping, and his favorite holiday is Halloween. He thinks cold coffee is an abomination and the person who invented it should be hogtied and strung up, he’d rather hold a cobra than be within ten feet of a spider, and he likes Coke over Pepsi.
