Our hands accidentally collided as we walked side-by-side, though neither of us commented on it as we discreetly created more distance between ourselves.
Not far from the lake, I slowed to a halt.
Nathaniel kept walking until he reached the brown, white and grey checked picnic blanket set out atop the grass, four brown cushions circling a picnic basket with a bottle of wine standing beside it. There were two small easels with a clean canvas perched on each, an empty paint palette and a tub of paint and brushes to share.
A real date.
I slowly dragged my gaze from the picnic spread to Nathaniel who looked nervous all of a sudden, one hand raised to pick at his lip while he shifted from one leg to the other, unable to stand still under my gaze.
“You…set this up?” I asked quietly.
Nathaniel nodded. “Yeah. Our own little…paint and sip. They do these classes you can join but I figured it’d be better with just…us.”
I said nothing, unable to process what I was seeing or hearing. Nathaniel had set this all up…for me? I didn’t deserve it. Not at all. I had only ever been cold to him, and distant.
“But I warn you,” Nathaniel rambled on, “I amnotgood at painting. And with wine in my system…I’ll be even worse. So don’t expect a masterpiece.”
Biting my lip, I approached the blanket and sat down in front of one of the easels, slipping off my shoes so I didn’t dirty the rug. I watched Nathaniel do the same, his eyes fixed on me as though afraid that if he looked away, I would disappear.
“If this isn’t something you want to do we can always go and–”
“Nathaniel,” I interrupted, voice steady despite the nerves gushing through my body, “this is perfect.”
His face lit up, shoulders dropping with relief. I watched as he opened the basket and retrieved two wine glasses, the intense, fruity aroma filtering through my nostrils as he poured us each a glass.
Nathaniel handed me the wine, and I took it gratefully despite my initial trepidation. Alcohol had never appealed to me. The scent alone turned me off. But I raised the glass to my lips anyway, tension locking my body as though I was being held at gunpoint.
Watching me over the rim of his glass, Nathaniel raised both eyebrows and shook his head, the corner of his lips pulling upinto an amused smile. “Augustus…don’t drink the wine if you don’t want to.”
“No, no, I want to,” I lied, tipping my head back slightly as the wine trickled down my throat. I coughed, lowering the glass as my eyes watered from the foul taste.
Nathaniel laughed and leaned forward to snatch the glass out of my hands. “We can paint and sip without the wine.”
“But–”
“It’s fine,” Nathaniel waved a dismissive hand at me. “I was only going to have a little bit anyway…since I have to drive back and everything.”
I nodded, a little embarrassed, and turned my attention to the paint and blank canvases. “What should we paint?”
“Hm.” Nathaniel looked around, no doubt searching for inspiration, when his eyes returned to me. “I was thinking of painting you.”
“Me?”
“I’m not very good so you’ll probably look like a weird blob, but it gives me a chance to stare at you without being weird.”
“Oh, and telling me all that definitely makes you sound less weird,” I said sarcastically.
A laugh, soft and delicate, escaped his throat as he reached for two empty yogurt cartons and filled them with water. “What can I say? I’m an honest guy.”
“Too honest,” I mused as I took one of the cartons and selected a paint brush. “I guess I shall paint you, then.”
Playfulness glistened in Nathaniel’s honey-brown eyes as he leaned down, elbow propped up on a cushion as he flashed me a smirk. “Shall I model for you?”
“You look ridiculous,” I said.
With a pout, he sat up and opened the paint tubes, pouring them onto his palette before I did the same with mine. “Well, if you do need me to pose,” he played along, “just let me know.”
I dipped my brush in green paint, using gentle brush strokes to create the green field of grass behind him. To lighten the dark green, I used another brush to dip into the white paint, the blend of colours creating the perfect shade to match the grass.
