When Jim is done giving us the tour, Gavin pulls up next to me. His horse nudges mine in the shoulder and I glare at Gavin.
“My horse doesn’t want to be touched by your horse.” And if Daisy rears up and knocks me off as a result, I’m going to be mad. And get revenge, when I’m out of the hospital and the cast(s) comes off.
“Are you sure that’s what Daisy wants?” he says, looking at my horse with amusement.
Daisy is nuzzling Mister Ed and whinnying softly. “Girl, control yourself. Don’t let him know you’re that into him,” I whisper at her. She blatantly ignores me, moving closer and closer to Mister Ed. The move makes my leg brush against Gavin’s.
“I think they like us, Ed. Keep sending out those pheromones.” Gavin pats his horse on the neck. “And, Daisy, thank you for not playing games with my friend here and being honest with your feelings.” The last part may be addressed to my horse, but he’s looking at me.
I change tactics. “Well thankyou, Mister Ed, for not trying to steal Daisy’s sugar cubes when her back is turned.”
“Thankyou,Daisy, for knowing that there’s enough sugar cubes to go around and appreciating when Mister Ed uses his skills and talents to get some sugar cubes for himself.”
“Well, thankyou, Mister Ed, for not using underhanded techniques to take any sugar cubes from Daisy.”
“Well thankyou,Daisy, for having a great ass.”
That gets a pause out of me. “Wait, are you still talking about the horse?” Or is this still an elaborate metaphor for me? And my ass?
“It’s what Mister Ed is thinking.” Gavin keeps a straight face through that bit of nonsense.
“You’re out of control, Carlyle. But I’ll let you know when we get a painting with primo horse ass. If that’s what you’re into.”
“Mister Edwill appreciate it.”
“We’re here. The picnic is just ahead.” Jim sounds relieved to be getting rid of us and this uncomfortably equine-themed conversation.
As promised, a few minutes later we ride into a verdant clearing. The horses are already tied up to one side and there are blue-and-white gingham blankets set up on the grass. Each blanket has multiple picnic baskets on it, some containing real china, while others have containers of food.
This is possibly the classiest picnic I’ve ever been to. And I would expect nothing less from Harrison.
The fast group has already claimed their blankets, leaving only one for me and Gavin.
Jim takes the horses to the side as we settle in. Without discussing it, Gavin starts getting out the china and I take out and open the containers. We can occasionally work together, apparently.
“This is beautiful.” I start scooping potato salad onto the plates he’s holding up.
The clearing is surrounded by magnolia trees dripping in pink flowers for their early spring bloom. Some flowers are already on the ground, dotting the grass with their spots of color. Spanish moss hangs from the trees, making a curtain that further secludes the peaceful clearing. Birds hover near the circle of blankets, indignant we’re invading their space but still curious about the newcomers, and our food. And being very vocal about not getting any of it.
“I don’t even miss the Wi-Fi.” Gavin picks a sandwich out of the container I just opened.
Let’s not go that far.
We’re sitting close to Naomi and Nate on their blanket. “Have you guys been here long?” I ask them in an attempt to ignore my own blanket mate.
“I’m on my second sandwich,” Nate responds.
Harrison comes to our blanket and sits down with us. “Priya, I have something for you.”
“A gift for me?” I say in surprise.
“Yes. Gavin said you love spicy food, so I had my staff find some extra spicy hot sauce for you to put on the sandwiches.” Harrison takes a small bottle out from behind his back and presents it to me like a kid presenting a really ugly drawing of their mom that their mom has to pretend to love.
Because I hate spicy food, which Gavin knows from our long acquaintance. And I can’t tell Harrison I don’t want the gift he went to any trouble to get. It’s too awkward for someone I’m wooing in a business capacity.
I don’t look at the little liar next to me, but I can feel his glee at the situation I’m in, waiting to see how I’ll respond.
Chapter Eighteen
