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“WOOOOOOHHHHH!” Three random guys ran right in front us, holding flags behind their backs as if they were capes. No sooner had they gone before the music got louder as a new band took the main stage.
“You could have at least gotten me shoes,” I muttered, lifting my heel to stop from sinking further into the grass.
He flipped the bag down slightly and unzipped it, pulling out a pair of sandals. Bending down, he put them at my feet. “Anything else, your majesty?”
Saying nothing, I stepped out of my heels and into the sandals. He extended his hand to take the heels, but I took them myself and walked forward. He was so damn annoying and doing far too much.
A private helicopter ride to The Last Summer Music Festival? Who was he trying to be right now? And of all places, TLSM? The festival took place on the last day of summer each year, but because most teens and young adults were already back at school, it had just become a festival for post-graduates who didn’t have to go to work the next morning or had nothing else to do with their lives. In the middle of the damn clearing of Foster Woods.
“TLSM rules! Whoa, yea!”
“Dude, you’re like forty; shut the hell up,” I muttered at the man to the left of us as we made our way through the crowd.
Gabriel, who must have heard me, snickered but didn’t say anything. It was only then that I realized he was still holding my hand. When I tried to pull it back, he just held on tighter. Too tired to fight him, I let it go. He kept us good distance away from the massive crowd, until finally we got to where a green blanket was spread over the grass beside the tree. A thin, frail woman was standing guard over it.
“Thanks.” Gabriel handed her a wad of bills.
“No problem, hot stuff.” She winked at him then happily skipped… Yes, skipped, away from us.
“Hot stuff? What is this, 2003?” I asked myself as I watched her go.
“Be nice, she’s a paying customer of yours,” he said to me, finally letting go of my hand and bending down to bring out containers of food.
“A customer of mine?”
He glanced up at me like I was stupid and I must have been because it took too long for that to connect. Shaking his head, he finished setting up and said, “Sit.”
“I’m—”
“I know you’re not a dog, I’m just saying you’re free to sit so we can eat,” he said as if he could read my mind, lifting the box for me.
Saying nothing, I sat down on the blanket, dropping my clutch to the side. Inside each of the boxes were more of my favorite foods. Tomato galette with fetta and fresh thyme, deep-fried shrimp fritters with cornichon dressing, and honey lemon chicken with artichoke bites. “You made all of this?”
“Chef Carluccio is warming up to me,” he replied, shifting to lay on his side, his legs off the blanket. “I promise it’s edible,” he replied, taking a bite of the food. However, it must have been much harder than it should have been because he had to keep chewing.
“It is edible, right?” I asked, trying to not to laugh.
He reached over and took the box from me. “Eat the others.”
“Nope,” I snatched it back, taking one and popping it into my mouth, only to have the same problem as he did. It was so hard.
He broke out, laughing at me. “You really can’t help yourself, can you? If I say left, you will say right, even if it means going over a cliff!”
I handed him the box back, still chewing, and he smiled, shaking his head
at me. He handed me a bottle of water which I didn’t want to take, but decided to man up and take it when I noticed the way he was trying not to laugh at me, fully aware I was just fighting him and choosing to suffer.
“I can’t help it,” I told him after drinking. “People have been giving me orders I’ve had to follow my whole life. I don’t like it.”
“People as in your parents?”
“Most kids could rebel… But if I did, I’d end up in a ditch somewhere and they’d have to come and save me, and then lecture me to death on why I should have listened to them and their all-knowing selves,” I muttered, stuffing a chicken bite into my mouth which thankfully tasted the way it was supposed to…amazing.
“I’m guessing that actually happened?”
I paused mid-bite, not liking how casual he was again. “Let’s talk about your parents.”
“New topic,” he said quickly, looking back over the crowd.
