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He walks over to me, and I freeze, basically having one of those holy shit, what should I do moments for no reason at all. Except this is a date. Did it start when we picked up plants, or did it just start now? It’s a real date. A date he asked me on. Putting labels on things suddenly makes them that much more real—not like the stuff in the kitchen pre-raccoon or anything before that wasn’t real—and suddenly, I’m as nervous as those rabbits you sometimes see just sitting there at the side of the road, and then they jump six feet in the air and take off running like all hell is on its heels when really, there isn’t anything at all chasing them out there.
My heart is certainly doing rabbit-fast palpitations, but I know I’m not capable of the bunny kind of acrobatics I’ve seen before.
Atlas holds out his arms, and I think that nope, I’m not going to make it, and it sure as heck won’t be graceful if I have to leap into them, but then, while I stand there as still as a stunned statue, he takes the blanket from me and hugs it to his chest.
“C—careful,” I stammer. “There are snacks inside that package.”
“Ahh. A most precious package it is, then.”
I glance up at the sky, which is now a murkier shade of bruised blue and dark purple. I squint very hard, and then, by the faint outline of the sliver of the moon, I see it. “A star!” I point with all the eagerness of a hyped-up-on-sugar three-year-old.
Atlas leans in, his breath warm on my cheek, and instead of startling, I freeze again, but it’s not a frozen sort of icy sensation going on inside. It’s more like liquid heat because his breath smells like peppermint, even though those sandwiches we picked up at the small restaurant a block from the greenhouse in town were all meat and cheese. Okay, and a little bit of lettuce. Shit, maybe I should have checked my teeth when I was inside. And maybe brushed them and put on deodorant. Checked that I didn’t miss a patch of hair on my thigh while shaving in the shower this morning.
A soft exhale blows right by my earlobe, and I forget all about patchy hairs and hairy patches as I focus on the minty-scented warmth that’s racing through me like his breath is contagious. In a good way. Mmm, minty manly breath.
“I can see the stars already,” I whisper, even if it’s a dumb thing to say.
He nods and does this insanely hot thing where he nuzzles the nape of my neck with his nose. “Even if you’re not in the sky, you’re still the most beautiful, dazzling, shining star out here right now.”
“Cheesy,” I gasp, but I still choke up a little.
He laughs, a big wave of rumbling sound that comes straight from his gut and explodes out of his throat such that he has to raise his head to the sky like he’s howling at the moon. My skin breaks out in goosebumps.
“Will you allow me to escort you to that field of dreamy flowers, oh shining star?” He switches the blanket to one arm and offers me the other, crooked so I can curl mine through it.
“That would be nice, especially since I might need someone to help me through the barbed wire fence when we get there.”
“Through?” He scoffs as I thread my arm through his and shiver at the proximity of his body to mine. “We’re not going through, my darh-ling.” He draws that word out with an exaggerated accent, and I’m not sure when he turned into a turn-of-the-century gentleman from…um, somewhere not here, but I like it. “We’re going over.”
Over, under, high or low, back or forth, sideways, byways, highways, skyways…I’m pretty sure I’d go anywhere with this man when he smiles at me like that, his eyes all soft and mushy and tender to match.
The fence is quite intimidating, and I’m glad I have Atlas to help me. He sets the blanket on the ground, brackets my waist in his hands, and scoops me right off my feet. He leans over and deposits me on the other side before handing me the blanket, all without breaking a sweat. Then, he walks back a few paces and gets a determined look on his face as he stares down the fence.
“Oh my god, you’re not going to jump that, are you?”
“I might give it a try,” he admits playfully.
I gasp and drop the blanket so I can wring my hands like the worrywart I am. “Something terrible could happen. You could rip your pants open. Actually, I think that would be the least terrible thing that could happen. You could…uh…rip more than that after you rip your pants.”
