I wipe the thin sheen of sweat from my face. “I don’t enjoy the thought of getting back down.”
Fallon scoots in close beside me, his hands loosely resting on the bottom wooden rung of the railing. “Good thing we have a ladder.”
I elbow him in the ribs. “You made me climb a damn rope when there was a ladder?” His eyebrows innocently shoot up, and I smack his thigh. “You do realize that people our age shouldn’t be doing stuff like that.”
He emits a masculine scoff. “Speak for yourself. I’m not old.”
I agree. Age is a mindset, one I refuse to give in to.
Fallon tenses when I smooth my hands down the corded muscles of his arms, checking out the ink I hadn’t been able to see yet since he usually wears long-sleeved dress shirts. The designs are a continuation of the jasmine vines and butterflies that start on his hands. I follow one of the vines as it climbs up his bicep to where it seamlessly transitions into a bramble of black thorns, their pointed tips dripping blood. Symbolically, thorns represent sin and sorrow and pain, but in some cultures, thorns are seen as protectors and guardians. I love how each meaning represents the man.
“Thank you for bringing me here. It makes me feel like I’m a kid again when I would play in the forest fort that Hailey and I built.”
I like that I feel this way. I like that Fallon can bring out that innocent, untainted part of me—the part that I never allowedthat nightand everything it took from me to ever destroy.
“You’re welcome. But I still owe you lunch.” Fallon gets to his feet and offers me a hand up.
I’m disappointed that we’re departing so soon after we only just arrived. “Can I take a peek inside?”
“Of course.”
He leads me around to the other side of the treehouse, passing the most obvious point of entry—the front door.
“Wait—” I start to say but don’t finish when I see a blue-patterned quilt spread out, a large wicker picnic basket sitting in the middle, and several large throw pillows situated at each corner. “You made me a picnic?”
Fallon renders me stupid with the most refulgent smile I’ve ever seen. “Thought you’d enjoy a picnic more than lunch at a café.”
My heart trips over itself. “You thought right.” Slipping off my sandals, the wooden planks are warm beneath my feet as I walk over and ease down to sit on the quilt. “Whatever you brought smells delicious,” I tell him when I detect the savory aroma of fried chicken.
Fallon joins me, stretching his long legs out and lifting the basket’s lid. “I brought all the Southern comforts.”
He pulls out a plate covered with aluminum foil and peels it back for me to see the fried chicken I had smelled, followed by a container of pasta salad and a cloth-wrapped bundle of golden biscuits. Next comes a clear plastic tub of carrot and cucumber sticks and a small bowl of red seedless grapes. Fallon opens a separate compartment and takes out two wineglasses filled with banana pudding, topped with vanilla wafer crumbles.
“Hope you’re hungry.”
Starving, but it has nothing to do with the food.
He pours iced tea from a glass decanter into two mason jars, the ice clinking gently as he hands one to me.
“Did you make all this?”
Fallon’s bark of laughter startles a cardinal to take flight. “I have many talents, but cooking isn’t one of them. I ordered from Ruby’s Diner.”
“IloveRuby’s Diner,” I gush, eager to start eating.
“I know.”
My gaze lifts to his, and I take a sip of my tea, the chilled liquid wonderful against the smoldering heat firing behind his aqua-blue eyes.
“As first dates go, how am I doing?” He picks up a piece of cold fried chicken, offering it to me with a boyish smirk.
I take a bite. It’s damn good, but everything from Ruby’s is delicious. “As I recall, you never formally asked me out. Your exact words were, ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow.’”
I become enamored at the blush that tints his cheeks.
“I’ll make sure to do better next time.”
Next time.
