"Thank you, Leo," Hugo says, and the kid's eyes widen.
"You know my name?" he croaks, then immediately follows it up with, "I mean, you're welcome." Then he spins on the heel of his bulky black tennis shoe and hightails it back to the kitchen.
"I don't think he expected you to know his name," I murmur.
"I know every employee's name," Hugo says, like it's nothing. But it is something, and it doesn't even surprise me. That's Hugo, being Hugo.
Hugo takes my hand again, leading me around the backend of Simon's, across an expanse of grass where two Adirondack chairs sit at the far end. We keep going down a slope, and arrive at a small garage.
Hugo sets the picnic basket on the ground, dropping my hand so he can remove his keys from his pocket. He selects one and unlocks the garage.
"Never know who might decide to take these for a joyride," he quips, lifting the garage door. Inside are three side-by-sides, gunmetal gray with the Summerhill logo on the doors. They look like buggies, but more all-terrain with the deeply grooved tires and sturdy frames.
I wink at him. "I might, now that I know they're here."
He laughs. "I'll look out for your trail of dust going across the orchard." He situates the picnic basket on the floor in the back seat, then swings around the small vehicle and opens the passenger door. Grandly, he gestures inside. "Your ride."
"My chariot," I tease.
"Your wagon," he adds. "Or hooptie."
I love having this inside joke with him, just a little something silly and special, only for us.
Hugo reverses carefully from the garage, putting the buggy in Park to close and lock the door behind him.
Hugo drives slowly. Carefully. Like he carries precious cargo. He skirts the outbuildings, the restaurant, the store, favoring a circuitous route that takes us past his house. My gaze falls over the tidy outside with the rich green front door. It's the most at home I've felt in years. Almost since I can remember. My apartment in Phoenix is nice, and it's a home, but this feels different.
He drives up to the edge of the grove, pausing at the tree line. Using a flat arm, he motions out in the distance. "Do you see that mountain range out there?"
Far away but looming are the Arizona Mountains, followed by the Superstitions beyond. Legend has it, theLost Dutchman's Gold Mine is somewhere in the Superstition Mountains, holding vast amounts of gold. I believe in legends of lost treasure about as much as I believe in magic, which is to say, not at all.
I nod, keeping my eyes trained where Hugo is pointing. "Those mountain ranges make Summerhill possible. They create a microclimate, giving the valley below a slightly different temperature than the rest of the desert. They also serve as a barrier for wind, and provide the soil with additional water from rainfall runoff."
Hugo shifts into Drive. The ride is mostly smooth, this part of the desert has been tamed. More sand than rocks. Olive trees instead of towering saguaros.
The breeze rolls through Hugo's hair. It's a little long, the brown-black tendrils curling over his ears. His posture is relaxed, muscles loose. He's not humming, but he wears the face of a man happy and carefree enough to do so.
"Summerhill is one thousand acres," he says, then winks at me, "or 404.6 hectares."
He's nerding out, and I love it. The way his eyes become bright and animated, an edge of excitement to them. The passion he feels for what he does makes him that much more attractive.
There's a break in the trees ahead, a dirt path to enter. Hugo turns with care, so much care that I know it's for me. For Peanut.
We enter the grove, and I can't stop my mouth from dropping open. We're surrounded by silvery green leaves,small white blossoms exploding on every side of us. The air is sweet, like apricots, with a spicy undertone.
"Did we go through a portal?" I ask, and Hugo beams with pride, and happiness. I don't think I've seen him this alive. This passionate.
Was he this way about fencing? He rarely talks about it. Now I have a new mystery to solve, something else to be curious about.
"We're in Narnia, aren't we?"
Hugo tosses me a smile. It takes a seat beside my heart.
We drive the path on and on, until we come to a clearing ahead. It's the perfect place for a picnic.
Hugo pulls up beside the expanse of grass, and I don't know how big it is except to say it's large enough to comfortably seat a few dozen people. Fewer if they lie back and let the sun warm their bodies.
"How did this get here?" I ask as we climb out, and Hugo reaches into the back seat for the basket.
