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Becky
“Where are we going?” I couldn’t hide this giddy smile on my face. I slung my bag over my shoulder as Charles led me to the car. My hair swished against my back in a low ponytail, and I sported these dangling earrings. My silk yellow shirt, which reminded me of sunshine, hugged my frame, and I wore the stonewashed jeans he had promised I could wear.
So, as we walked to the car, I was on edge with curiosity.
When he opened the door to his Porsche, I stepped inside, and before he shut it, he said, “Where we’re going is a surprise.”
I tried not to frown. Surprises were not my favorite because, in my lifetime, most of my surprises had been tragic, hurtful, and caused me pain. As soon as this thought registered, I pushed it away and peered up at Charles in his light-blue polo shirt and casual jeans. Then, I decided this was my happy place—in this car, with him.
Charles held my hand as he drove us to our destination—wherever that was. It felt strange, holding this man’s hand, our fingers intertwined, because I hadn’t held anyone’s hand intimately in this way in a long time. His hold was strong, his fingers firm, as though he was sure, so sure of this day, so sure of us.
Charles embodied strength in his stance, in the power of his walk, and now, even his hand-holding. When we pulled up to a park reserve, I already knew what we were up to.
I turned to face him. “Are we going on a picnic?” I beamed. “Just so you know, I’ve never been on a picnic before.”
“Will you stop spoiling my surprise?” That small smile he rarely showed popped up on his face, making me sigh silently.
We passed the park district farther down a gravel road and to an empty field, except for a large truck towing a trailer behind it.
Odd. If we were having a picnic, I’d guess it would be at a lake, at the park, somewhere scenic, except for a lone truck on an open field.
He placed his car in park and stepped out. I heard the trunk open before he stepped around to open my door. “Let’s go.” His one hand went to mine, like magnets meant to unite, and in his other hand, he held a cute wicker picnic basket. It had frilly red-and-white plaid fabric that outlined the top, which seemed way too girlie for someone of his height and stature.
“Are we having picnic on that truck?” I said, being cheeky, squeezing his hand harder.
“You’re funny.” Then, he tugged me faster toward the truck, and the closer I approached, the more my heart sped up in my chest because on the back of the truck was a life-sized wicker basket.
Three burly guys jumped from the truck and greeted us. “Hey, Charles.”
“Hey, guys.” He tugged me against him, slipping his arms over my shoulders. “Noah, James, Tony … this is Becky.”
After I shook their hands, Noah, the taller one with a full-on beard, said, “Today is a good day to fly.”
I blinked up at him. “Fly?”
“Yeah, fly.” Charles sported a full-on smile this time, and I paused for a moment, ignoring his words and simply just took it in.
Fly?
The two men carrying the basket from the trailer broke me from my momentary staring. After they placed it on the ground, I realized that the basket was meant to be ridden.
My eyes widened, and I jumped. “Charles!”
His voice was a low rumble directly behind me. “Have you ever experienced a hot air balloon ride?”
“Yeah.” My voice was breathless, dazed.
He reeled back. “You have?”
“I mean, kinda. If you mean, experience it as in watching it on television. I watched a romantic comedy once where the hero surprised the woman and took her on a hot air balloon ride on their first date. I think you must’ve watched it.”
“Are you saying this is cliché?” His eyes followed Noah and James, who pulled out the balloon from the bag and unwrapped it on the field. “I guess it’s not really original.”
My gaze traveled back to him. Is he pouting?Good God, it was the beginning of a pout. I doubted that word was even in his vocabulary.
“I’m kidding, Charles. It’s perfect.” I turned to face him fully. “Seriously, it’s perfect that it’s in the movies. I always dreamed about being that girl, wined and dined.”
He nodded, but he wasn’t convinced. “It’s not original. I mean, the last time I went on a first date was in high school. The first date I ever took Nat on was to the movies and to the local Steak ’n Shake. It’s been a while, so I”—he averted his stare, looking almost bashful—“I googled romantic first dates.”
