“Maybe I can come see your next one?” I offer.
His whole face lights up when I say it.
The park is empty and dark when we arrive, but I’m not afraid at all. Ashton was right. I’m perfectly safe when I’m with him. He leads me over to a flat space of grass, under a spacious oak tree, and lays out the blanket he had tucked away in his basket. The way he heads right for it, like he knew exactly where the best place to have a picnic would be, makes me wonder how he even found out about this part of my neighborhood. How long he’s been wanting to bring me here.
“I already ate dinner,” I warn him, sitting down on the blanket and tucking my legs beneath me.
“Ah! I thought you might have,” he says with a grin, not letting my hesitation derail his enthusiasm. “That’s why this thing is packed full of dessert.”
I watch as he removes package after package from his basket, laying them out before me.
“Ta-da!” he says, taking the lid off a container and holding it out for me. “Chocolate-covered strawberries! And, in case you don’t like strawberries, I have a bunch of other chocolate-covered fruits, too. And some marshmallows, somewhere in here.”
He goes back to digging in his basket, pulling out more items as he talks.
“Who doesn’t like strawberries?” I question with a laugh, taking one out of the container and biting into it. It’s divine, perfectly ripe, the chocolate just the perfect amount of bitter dark to complement the sweetness.
Ashton winces. “Well,” he demurs, not looking at me. “Me, for one.”
I balk, then sputter out, “What? How can you not likestrawberries?”
After setting the last of the containers out on the blanket, he settles back, stretching his legs out. When he turns to look at me, his face is serious.
“They tried to kill Doc,” he tells me. “So, it’s personal, for me.”
A small smile spreads over my face before I can stop it.
“It’s true,” he insists. “When we were young—and I mean, really young, I was eight, so he would have been like…five, maybe? Anyway, our mom took us to this little farmers’ market.”
Ashton’s eyes are bright and animated with the memory. I nibble on my strawberry, listening.
“There was a guy who was selling strawberries, and they must have been a steal or something, because our mom buys four whole pints of them, right? Maybe she was thinking she’d make a pie, or some jam, I don’t know, we never got a chance to find out. Because less than an hour after we get home, Sebastian gets into those strawberries and he just… doesn’t stop.”
I have to bite my lip to keep my expression blank as Ashton continues. He moves his hands as he talks, painting a picture for me.
“He eats all of them. All four pints, before she notices. And he’s covered in strawberry stems and juice, a sticky mess. But here’s the thing.” Ashton pauses, dramatically. “About fifteen minutes later, he starts blowing up like a balloon.”
“He’s allergic?” I ask, horrified.
Ashton snaps his fingers at me. “Yep! He’d never had an allergic reaction before, not once. So mom shoves us in the car, and off we go, straight to the emergency room.”
“That must have been so scary for your mom,” I murmur. “And you.”
“For me? Not at all.” He laughs. “The nurses thought I was just the sweetest thing in the world. They treated me like a little prince. Poor Doc is stuck in a hospital bed, getting poked and prodded, and I’ve got his nurses bringing me ice cream and cookies. God, he was so pissed off about that.”
I can imagine it. I picture a little Sebastian, perfectly put together and dour, with a little scowl on his face as he watches the nurses fawn over Ash.
“But to this day, I haven’t eaten a single strawberry,” Ashton admits. “I just can’t forgive them for trying to kill him like that.”
“I wonder how Sebastian would tell this same story,” I say, grinning.
He sighs and reaches into a container for a chocolate-covered marshmallow. “With a lot more scowling, I bet.”
That gets a genuine laugh out of me. I pick up another strawberry and take a bite. “I had an experience like that once. Well, actually, not exactly like that…”
I trail off, realizing my story isn’t endearing or heartwarming like his.
“Never mind,” I say, shaking my head.
