He stops shaking and pulls out the cork before handing the bottle back to me. I take a sip, feeling oddly naughty drinking wine straight from the bottle. Is this what counts for wild when you’re thirty?
The wine is earthy and spicy and perfect for a summer evening with the faintest nip of fall in the air. I hand the bottle to Ian and lean back against him to look up at the stars. “Your mom seems happy about the engagement.”
“Yeah.” He lifts the wine to his lips, and I watch his throat move as he swallows before resting the bottle on his knee. “She’s always wanted a daughter-in-law. I’ll warn you up front that she’ll start badgering us about grandkids the second I get the ring on your finger.”
“I can live with that.”
He passes the bottle back, and I take another sip. The rich liquid goes down easy, warming me from the inside out. Or maybe it’s Ian who’s making me feel like that.
He squirts some canned cheese onto a cracker and hands it to me. “Keeping it classy.”
I laugh and plant the bottle in the grass at the edge of the blanket. I bite into the cracker, marveling at how normal this feels. The wine, the setting, the impromptu picnic with an old friend who happens to be the guy I’ve just agreed to marry.
“You okay?” Ian asks.
“Yeah, why?”
“You just shivered. Here, let’s do this.” He picks up the second blanket and pulls it around us, tenting us into a cocoon filled with our shared body heat. I’m instantly heated through, even though I wasn’t cold to start.
“Thanks.” I accept another cheese-frosted cracker as I lean back against his chest and study the stars. It occurs to me how many gestures of affection between us are about practicality. We’re snuggling now for warmth, and we held hands at his dinner with the bosses to present a picture of a united front.
But today at the reindeer place, he held my hand without any reason at all. Is that significant, or am I looking for signs where there will never be any?
“So I guess we should talk about the wedding thing,” he says. “How soon, when, where, all that good stuff.”
“I suppose so.” Part of me is glad that I have my back to him, that I can’t see his face. If I could, I’d be searching hard for some hidden meaning in his words.
“Is there anything you used to picture when you thought about your wedding someday?”
I take another sip of wine and consider the question. “When I was six, I wanted to get married in my Wonder Woman costume,” I tell him. “And friends who went to the costume party with me the last few years teased me that I’d eventually get married in my ninja costume.”
“I’m sensing a theme here,” he says.
“We have the soap and loofa costumes already,” I point out. “Seems a shame not to use them again.”
He laughs, but it’s a quiet laugh. A thoughtful one. Something’s on his mind. “Seriously though, do you want the full wedding? The dress, the flowers, the bridesmaids?—”
“The nonexistent father walking me down the aisle?” I shake my head. “I was never going to be able to pull off the traditional thing anyway. I’m good with deviating from the norm.”
“How about a naked wedding?”
The teasing note in his voice tells me he’s not serious, so I play along. “Would we be the only naked ones, or would our attendants have to show skin, too?”
“Oh, everyone’s naked,” he says. “The guests, the minister, the caterers?—”
The mental picture makes me laugh so hard I start sneezing. I lean forward to cover my mouth, hoping I don’t tip over the wine.
Ian rubs my back. “You okay?”
“I’m good,” I tell him. “I’ve been sneezy all day.”
“Might be the juniper. A lot of people are allergic to it.”
“I don’t think that’s it,” I tell him. “I’ve always loved the smell of juniper. Probably just dust.”
I’m not sneezing anymore, but he’s still rubbing my back. I love the feel of his big palm making circles over my spine through the soft cotton of my T-shirt. If I were a cat, I’d be purring right now.
“Remember that guy in our Econ class who insisted people have an orgasm every time they sneeze?” he says.
