This is a date.
No matter how many times I told him and told myself. Seeing him standing there with the package in his hands seals the deal, n to mention the picnic basket on the island.
“It’s not what you think,” he grumbles, his footfalls creaking the wood as he walks toward me before falling into the chair across the table. Setting the bag on the floor between us, I wring my hands, not sure how to act.
I really didn’t think this was a date.
“I didn’t get you anything,” I say as I peer at the bag, wishing I had X-ray vision so I’d know what it is and could prepare myself for my reaction. I never know how to react when it comes to gifts, always thinking I will not give the other person the right amount of emotion.
“Like I said, it’s not what you think.” He nudges the bag toward me with a foot. “Go on. Open it up.”
“I’m not sure I should.” My neck cracks as I whip my head up to him, my palms sweating with anxious energy.
“Birdie, it isn’t anything nefarious.”
“I never said it was.”
“Then why do you keep looking at the bag like I packed scorpions in tissue paper, just waiting to pinch you?”
“Did you?” I gasp in mock horror.
“Did I what?”
“Pack scorpions in a paper bag to kill me?” I tsk under my breath. “I knew this town was too good to be true. It’s always the pleasant towns that hide the serial killers.”
He points a finger at me, opening and closing his mouth, unsure just what to say to me. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m completely serious. Have you ever watched crime documentaries?” With complete sincerity, I continue, “Maybe we should stay here in the warmth with hot cocoa and get you all caught up on the horror of small towns.”
“No more crime documentaries for you.”
“How dare you try to steal my freedom?”
“Birdie.” Giving up, he reaches into the back and pulls out a…
“Arlo.” I gasp, grabbing the black coat from his hands. I can feel the down feathers inside, and it has faux fur in the hood. It’s heavy and warms my hands just by holding it.
“I got these too.” He tosses matching gloves on the table as I clutch the coat to my chest, my eyes feeling all misty.
Never in all my life have I ever received such a well thought out gift. Sure, I’ve gotten gifts before from my brother, but they were always weird ones. Like cinnamon potpourri, when he knows I hate the smell of it. Or red wine when I prefer white. Sure, it’s nitpicky little things like that, but this…
This was a well thought out purchase.
“I didn’t want you to get cold.” He glances out the window, avoiding my stare, choosing instead to watch as his mom and Lark wander the graveyard.
“I love it.” And I do. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t truly mean it. Popping up, I slide my arms in, almost moaning at the feel of the down feathers. I freeze, my eyes going wide. “Arlo, this must have cost?—”
“Stop.” He stands, tugging on the zipper and sliding it up before yanking off the tag and tossing it on the table. Still not meeting my eyes, he grabs the basket and heads to the front, throwing it over his shoulder. “We should avoid my mother.”
I grab my gloves and pull them on as I hurry after him, my heavy boots already on my feet. I stay quiet as the cold slaps me in the face as he leads me to a trail through the wooded area on the side of the house.
“Why?” I can’t hold in the need to know what he’s thinking and why this stranger would do so much for me when no one in my life has ever done that much.
“Why are we avoiding my mother? Because she is almost as bad as my sisters, and I’d like to avoid them at all costs,” he grumbles, stomping through the forest loud enough to make all the animals scurry.
“You know that isn’t what I want to know.” I grab his flannel, making him pause in the thick of the woods. The only witnesses to our conversation are the fauna and flora.
“I don’t have an answer for you.” He pauses, peering at me under his thick lashes. My fingers curl in his flannel, tugging him closer.
