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“Well, I’m starved. I know we got sandwiches on the way out, but those didn’t last long. Can I interest you in a snack and a soft blanket, and we can get even dirtier in the field of wildflowers out yonder?” I sweep my hand, indicating the field.
“I actually thought that was a crop the first time I looked at it,” Atlas confesses. “When it was all green. I can’t believe how quickly it all started blooming.”
The field is one of those wildflower world wonders that could be featured in any photoshoot or romantic scene in a sappy movie. Or maybe on a calendar page. It’s that nice, with all the myriad of colored blooms waving in the wind.
It’s probably around eight-thirty, and the sky is rapidly becoming so pretty that it hurts the eyes to look at all those vibrant, beautiful evening colors smeared up there like the perfect canvas—I never did understand how people can make those messy, paint-flung, abstract things look so easy to do because I’m sure they’re not. Natural or painted, the view tonight is going to be spectacular.
Plus, it’s almost dark. A blanket, snacks, and a field of wildflowers were everything we talked about a few days ago. I mean, it’s not like I’ve been fantasizing about it ever since it was mentioned or anything.
Yeah, it’s honestly all I’ve been thinking about.
“I think it is a crop. Kind of.” I suddenly pick up the train of conversation, shaking off the heady thoughts that keep coming at me before my lady bits go up in a cloud of smoke. “They’re probably going to come and cut it down for hay and bale it up soon, so it’s a good thing we’ll get to enjoy it tonight.”
Atlas grins at me so easily and freely that my heart nearly grinds to a stop. He has dirt smudged on his forehead and on one cheek. I’m pretty sure that should not be as sexy as it is, but this is Atlas here, and he can make even dirt look good. Then again, who doesn’t like a virile, dirty, sweaty muscly male with more than a day’s worth of beard growth on their chiseled jaw, a black T-shirt stretched tight over their chest, biceps bulging out all over the place, plus buttery soft, worn jeans sent straight from the denim gods to grace the world’s most gorgeous set of legs and buns? Right. That would be no one. Add to that the fact that I know he’s capable of dirty talking to layer up on that sexy-as-sin package, and I’m a goner.
Yipes. Fading as we speak.
“Picnic round two?” I squeak, my voice as high as a mouse with its dingleberries caught in a trap. Is that even possible? I wouldn’t want to know. Poor rodents. They’re so freaking cute.
Atlas nods. “Sounds great.”
“Okay, I’ll just…I’ll go in and get the blanket and some snacks.”
“I’ll finish cleaning up out here.”
There are plant packets, seed envelopes, shovels, and whatnot strewn all over the place. I nod and race toward the house, my va-jay singing a happy song with every step, my nipples so hard that they’re probably shredding my bra into tiny little pieces underneath my shirt.
I race through the kitchen, grab the blanket that is still in there from when I gathered it up and brought it back into the house a few nights ago, run to the fridge, and stare into it.
Snack. Snack. What’s good snack material?
Besides Atlas?
Jeepers. Really?
I spot the block of cheese and grab it. Right, cheese and crackers. There is a bag of grapes on the bottom shelf, and I reach for those next. Who doesn’t have grape fantasies? I mean, where grapes are a part of that fantasy? I can’t really think of anything better than laying out on a blanket surrounded by wildflowers and a perfectly clear sky overhead with stars twinkling all over the place while feeding grapes to your…uh…crush? Love interest? Boyfriend? Chocolate-covered strawberries would be hot, but I didn’t have the foresight to get them or make them. So, grapes it is. Historically, grapes are super sexy. Just think about it. We should be good.
I throw the cheese, bag of grapes, and a sleeve of crackers onto the blanket, wrap it back up, and race outside so fast that I nearly stumble and fall off the porch. I right myself as though it didn’t happen and walk normally. Atlas is still gathering up plant containers, so there’s no way he saw me nearly face plant, thank the freaking stars that are soon to be out.
Atlas stands up, sees me, and drops the containers comically. There’s something on his face, an expression that, if I didn’t know better, I would say is close to awe, but it’s me he’s looking at. I’m currently holding an old blanket super tightly, so I don’t drop the snacks inside because dirty, dusty, and grassy grapes aren’t nearly as sexy, and I’m sure I have dirt streaks all over myself too.
