"Sure it is. I'm driving and appreciating the view."
Pink floods her cheeks. "The trees are lovely this time of year."
"I wasn't talking about the trees."
She ducks her head, but I see her smile. Small victories.
An hour into the drive, I pull off at a small roadside farm stand. The kind of place that probably hasn't changed in fifty years with an elderly couple running it from their front porch.
"What are we doing?" Ivy asks as I park.
"Getting supplies."
I hop out before she can ask more questions, jogging around to open her door. She accepts my offered hand, sliding out of the passenger seat.
The farm stand smells like earth and apples, hay and honey. An older woman with kind eyes greets us from behind a table overflowing with fresh produce.
"Morning, dears. What can I get you?"
I scan the offerings, mentally checking off the list I made last night.
"Those apples, the honey, that fresh bread, the cheese..." I point to a small container. "And whatever those pastries are."
"Apple turnovers, fresh this morning."
"Perfect. We'll take four."
"Declan," Ivy hisses beside me. "That's too much food."
"It's a picnic. You can't have a picnic without proper supplies."
"A picnic?" Her eyes light up with pleasure? Nope, excitement. "We're having a picnic?"
"Among other things."
I pay the woman, accepting the paper bags she packs everything into.
"Thank you," I say.
"You two have a beautiful day," she replies.
Back in the car, Ivy is uncharacteristically quiet. I glance over to find her staring at the bags in the backseat.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." But her voice is thick. "I just... I can't remember the last time someone planned something like this for me."
The admission breaks something in my chest. I reach for her hand again.
"Get used to it."
We drive the final hour with the windows down slightly, cool morning air mixing with the warmth from the vents. I show her the river where I used to fish with my dad, the turnoff to the rink where I played junior hockey, and the hill where Riley broke her arm trying to sled down it in August because she tried to convince herself that grass was "probably just as slippery as snow."
Ivy laughs, asks thoughtful questions, and even shares her own memories. I learn that she was terrified of swimming until she was ten, that she once tried to build a robot that would do her homework, that Marcus taught her to skate even though she was terrible at it.
"You can't skate?" I'm genuinely shocked.
"I can skate. I'm just not good at it." She shrugs. "Marcus gave up trying to teach me after I sprained my ankle for the third time. He said I was a lost cause."
