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“I should have done it weeks ago,” I admit.
“Oh”—She blinks back at me, stunned—“Okay.”
I pull back and start going through the basket. “Now, let’s eat.”
“I can always eat.”
“Me, too. What do you want first?” I ask her.
“Sandwich?” She scrunches her nose.
“Not cheese?”
She grins, rolling her eyes at me. “If you want to start with cheese, why bother asking me?”
“Not sure.” I tilt my head. “Maybe to fuck with you. Creature of habit. I have a compulsive need to do the opposite of what you say.”
I smile as I reach for a small sandwich and hand it to her. Then I grab one for myself.
She takes a bite and moans. “This is amazing.”
“I made it all by myself.”
“You did?”
“Hell no. I don’t even know where my kitchen is.” I laugh.
“Har, har. You do, too; we had ice cream.”
“Chef made them,” I admit, picking one up and staring at the perfectly cut square. “Scowled the whole way through.”
“I’m not surprised.” She shakes her head, throwing it back in laughter. “This is amazing regardless.”
“Good, enjoy. There are plenty where that came from,” I tell her as I pick up another bite-sized sandwich.
“I’m not used to this,” she says right after she swallows. “I don’t know how to handle this side of you.”
I lift my eyebrow, telling her to continue. My mouth is full, so I can’t speak. Wouldn’t know what to say even if I could.
“You being so nice to me,” she says. “You taking care of me. You kissing me.” She bows her head, and guilt tries to invade the picnic.
I won’t let it.
I know she hates it. She’s said so herself a few times already. And we agreed to put the past behind us and start fresh . . . But damn, if that guilt doesn’t sucker punch me.
“Listen, I was a real asshole.”
“I’m not going to argue with that.”
I set my sandwich down and give her the full force of my attention so she knows I’m serious. “It took me a long time to get my head out of my ass, but this isn’t something that just happened overnight. I knew I was acting poorly. I knew you didn’t deserve my malice for a long time.”
I shake my head, wishing I’d come to the realization sooner, so she wouldn’t be here like this. Injured.
“That’s what I was coming to talk to you about that day,” I add.
“When did you realize?” she asks, her voice dipping lower than normal.
“When you kept showing up.”
