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“Don’t fall,” he teases as he sets the picnic basket at the base of an overgrown tree.
I know he means ‘don’t fall’ in the physical sense, but in my heart, I’m already a goner. I’m falling for him so hard, I don’t think I could stop myself if I tried. My heart races behind my ribs because sweet Christ, is that thought scary. I might as well just dive off a cliff and pray there aren’t rocks in the water below.
I lean against the tree as Mateo fights with the ribbon tied tight around the blanket. I smirk as he curses to himself. He can tie a rope in knots twelve ways from Sunday but give the man a ribbon and—
He pulls a knife out of his back pocket, deftly opening it with one hand. He slips it under the ribbon, slicing through it in one swift motion before flicking the knife shut and pocketing the blade again. I swear, if I’d have blinked, I would have missed it. And that would have been a crying shame because it was surprisingly sexy.
I think it’s just one of those little moments that remind me I don’t know everything about Mateo. I know the important bits, sure. I know what he values; what he holds above everything else. I’ve seen the way he loves his family, fiercely and unfailingly, even when his brother didn’t deserve it. And there’s no missing his kind and protective nature. I know that down to his soul, he’s a good man. He’s buttoned up on the surface, sure, but when he does things like whip that knife out with practiced and fluid skill, I can’t help but wonder what else is hiding under that starched collar.
And Lord help me, I am dying to find out.
Despite the name “North Sonoma Mountain,” this area is all rolling hillsides dotted with stands of trees like this one and little ponds in the low areas. From the base of the hill, it was impossible to see into the heart of the copse, but now that we’re up here inside it, we can see everything for miles and miles. The branches of the old gnarled oak tree we’re standing under hang low down the sides of the hill. It almost feels like a tree fort; private and protected, but with an incredible view.
I squint at Mateo. “You knew exactly where we were headed.”
Mateo grins at me, unrolling the blanket and spreading it out on the grass. “Maybe.”
He sits down, one knee pulled up toward his chest, the other kicked out in front of him. He smacks the blanket next to him with his palm. “Sit.”
“Are we still feeling bossy?” I ask, hands on hips. He raises an eyebrow and runs his thumb over his lower lip as he looks me up and down like I’m a steak dinner he’s about to devour.
Ooh, yes. Yes, we are.
“Sit your mouthy ass down so I can feed you, Jules.” He’s smiling, but there’s a demanding edge in his voice that sends a little shiver of excitement running up my spine.
“Yes, sir,” I say, chuckling at his expression as I settle myself on the blanket across from him, my leg brushing against the inside of his calf. The edges of his eyes tighten and I can practically see him planning ways to make me say ‘yes, sir’ again. I cross my legs in front of me, smoothing my dress down my thighs as I wink at him. I wonder if this is what Diane von Furstenberg had in mind when she designed this dress. I doubt it, but if she could see the view in front of me, I don’t think she’d object.
Mateo lifts the lid on the picnic basket, pulling out two sandwiches wrapped in white butcher paper. He checks the labels, handing me one. Opening the paper, I find a chicken and avocado sandwich on sourdough bread. I breathe it in happily and sigh, “This is my favorite.” He nods, looking pleased with himself as he takes a bite.
As we sit under the tree with our sandwiches, my stress from the morning with Janelle melts away. Mateo looks more relaxed than I think I’ve ever seen him. One forearm rests on the knee he has pulled up to his chest. His dress pants are pulled snug around his thighs and as hard as I try not to think about it, it’s impossible not to picture what I now know he’s hiding under there. And, just to torture me, his facial hair has reached an all-new level of sexy scruff that’s so potent it’s basically demanding I hand over my panties, posthaste.
Then he pulls out two small, clear boxes containing my favorite lemon tarts and a bottle of Bellina Blanc de Noirs sparkling wine wrapped in a cold pack.
“These are all of my favorites,” I say, taking the wine from his hands. My favorite sandwich, my favorite dessert. He even picked my favorite wine for special occasions. He digs two stemless wine glasses out of the basket, holding them for me to pour.
“How did you know?” I ask, uncorking the bottle. It opens with a pop and I fill the two glasses, setting the bottle in the corner of the basket so it doesn’t spill.
Mateo’s eyebrows draw together and he tilts his head to the side like he doesn’t understand why I’m confused. He hands me a glass and shrugs.
“I know you, Jules. It wasn’t even hard. Chicken and avocado has always been your favorite. You ate almost that exact sandwich every day for lunch your freshman year. It’s the reason I had to help your gran plant that avocado tree behind her house. And I’ve seen you threaten to stab your sisters with a fork when they tried to steal bites of your lemon tart.”
Sipping my wine, the memory of him digging the hole in our backyard surfaces. I’d forgotten he helped her plant that avocado tree. Gran is still salty that the thing didn’t start putting out fruit until the summer after I graduated high school. She makes me come pick them so they don’t rot in her yard. And the stabbing part is completely true.
“Ok, fair enough. But what about the wine?”
“You have four bottles in your pantry. You can’t possibly hate it if you buy it in bulk.”
I’m speechless for a long second, a rare thing for me. I’m… touched isn’t a strong enough word. Overwhelmed. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt so seen or so cared for. It’s like there’s this balloon in my chest, filling with air and making me lighter with every single breath.
“Why here?” I ask.
“What’s with the twenty questions?”
“Last one, I promise. You just knew exactly where we were going and you passed up half a dozen other parks to come to this one. Why?”
“You said I could do anything I wanted with you…”
“But that doesn’t really answer the question,” I argue.
