“Dad’s been hiring awesome people for years, and they have most of it handled. They could do all of it without me here, but he’s a control freak.” He rolled his eyes and I had to poke at him.
“As if you’re not a control freak when you’re on the field?”
“I’m not,” he protested, and I laughed in his face.
He paid me back for that this morning, when he declared that despite not working out there, he wanted us to go out on a ride.
I tried to argue, but he shut me up with a kiss as soft and as mind-bending as the one he gave me when I left his home Saturday night, and then he whispered, “Please?” right against my lips.
I always thought I was a hard person to manipulate, you know, learning from a young age what an asshole mancould do to my self-worth, but none of that seems to matter with AJ.
Now I can’t regret my weak will when it comes to him because it turns out I like riding on a horse once I get the hang of it.
And I’m sure Sweetie Pie is bored to tears with our slow pace and the awkward way I move the reins, but she’s as mild mannered as AJ promised. Enough so that only half an hour in, I can actually look up from the back of her head and stare at the beauty of Quick Ranch.
Endless green pastures, small hills, a few bigger ones in the distance, and the cloudless sky shining the prettiest blue I’ve ever seen. I catalogue every little thing about the view—the cattle in the distance, a few men on horses going a lot faster than we are, a few barns scattered around...
It’s pretty idyllic and I wonder who I would be if I’d grown up here.
Would I be as perpetually happy as AJ is? As easygoing? As kind?
I don’t think I’m a bad or mean person, not by nature, but I’m nowhere near his territory.
I don’t exactly regret where I grew up, or resent my upbringing, Mom made sure I had a happy childhood and every choice open for my future, but the sense of freedom that’s permeating my bones right now is something I suspect still lives inside AJ, even when he’s stuck in traffic like I was dreaming of a little while ago.
We come to one of those hills that has a visible trail going up to a solitary Eastern Cottonwood tree at the top.
It’s only when we’re up there and I have my feet on the ground once more that I notice a basket that was tied to Arthur’s saddle.
“Come on,” AJ says, as he takes Arthur’s reins and leads him to a post a few feet away from the tree. He shows me how to tie Sweetie Pie and then, as easy as breathing, grabs my hand and pulls me to the shade of the tree.
“What is this?” I ask him, scared all of a sudden of what this could mean, what the consequences could be if he’s actually thinking what I suspect he is.
“It’s a picnic,” he says brightly, and lets go of my hand as he puts the basket down, opens the two top little doors, and takes out a... picnic blanket. White and red squares cover about eight feet by eight feet of the grass, and he straightens it quickly then pulls other things out one at a time.
As I watch him arrange everything, I realize it wasn’t fear I was feeling, it was nerves.
AJ makes me nervous in the best of ways, and I can feel myself edging closer to a cliff I won’t be able to climb back up.
“You know it scares me when you think too hard about something.” The amused twinkle in his eye makes my palms sweat with a new anticipation, something so simple and innocent, I don’t think I’ve felt it since I was in middle school.
“Shut up,” I mutter without any heat. But then I take a deep breath.
Get your shit together, Cam. I mentally berate myself, then go sit next to everything he prepared for us.
“When did you put all this together?” I ask as I reach for a peach and bite right in. “Damn, this is good,” I groan with my mouth full, and by his growing smile, he loves it.
I don’t think I’ve ever spoken with my mouth full on a date—which this clearly is, but I’m not going to look too deeply into it—but with AJ everything is easy. Nothing is a big deal, even while everything is.
“I did a bit last night and the rest this morning.” He sits across from me and grabs a water bottle and a piece of cheese.
“It’s nice,” I tell him honestly, though nice isn’t the exact right word. I don’t know what it would be.
“Yeah?” He straightens a little, clearly happy with me, but when his smile falters just a smidge, I realize he’s nervous too.
“Yeah,” I assure him and reach over to pat his hand, then grip it. “Thank you.”
He looks away then shrugs, and that tells me I should probably give him more credit for how he’s been dealing with all of this—way better than I have—and give him a break from being the only instigator.
