After some quick thinking, I manage to work it all out to do an afternoon picnic with my wife instead of at night, like I’d been planning. It just takes some shuffling, a little bit of teamwork, and some heavy persuading to some of our closest friends and family on my part.
Brad still goes to his friend’s as planned, Preston and Ford go to their grandparents for the afternoon, and Lea goes on a girl-date with Ellie. Pretty sure her text said they’d be getting mani-pedis at the salon and watching a movie together at their house. I’m not sure how you get a two-and-a-half-year-old to sit through a manicure, or if that’s even safe, but Chrissy has assured me there’s a children’s salon that they’re going to that specializes in spoiling little princesses, so I trust them on that one.
I may have had to promise Ellie an extra deal this week to sweeten the offer. I guess she was planning on being in the office today, but I’ll make it up to her on Monday.
By the time we drop everyone off all around town, and promise to be back in time to be able to pick up a fish before the store closes on our way home, we’re down to exactly two-hours-and-forty-five minutes of blessed alone time together, and I plan to make every…minute…count.
* * *
My hands coverChrissy’s eyes from behind as I shuffle us both into the kids’ playroom, the smallest bedroom in the house, but it was the only place I could think of to accommodate this new plan on such short notice.
The blackout curtains are drawn, keeping that afternoon Florida sun blocked out, and Lea’s twinkle lights are on, emitting a soft glow throughout the room to make it slightly more magical for our date.
The soft interlocking flooring in the room has been covered by a few blankets from various rooms and a closet I raided, softened further with the practically two-dozen throw pillows I found around the house and tossed in here as well. Never thought those would come in handy, but I guess when my wife said weneededall of them, she might’ve been right. (Don’t tell her I said that.)
I drop my hands and her eyes take in the scene in front of her, the space for us to sit, the spread of some of her favorite foods I’d been hiding in the garage fridge so as not to ruin the surprise, along with the sparkling grape juice we’d gotten for the kids but never opened last New Year’s Eve that I had to resort to using because my afternoon was spent consoling little ones about our family’s inability to keep finned creatures alive instead of picking up the champagne from the Publix liquor store. We’re making the best of it.
I hear a soft breath, an inhale or maybe a gasp, and she turns around in my arms, eyes sparkling in delight.
“Is this…?” She trails off, uncertain.
“We weresupposedto be at the park tonight. The one we had our first date at. Under the big tree.” My fingers splay out, imitating the tree for emphasis. “But, uh, plans kinda changed. Humor me anyway?” I ask her.
It feels like a metaphor for our life, this trial period I’ve been killing myself over. Making plans. Trying to prioritize one another, but something always comes up, or goes wrong, and we end up having to make do with something much less romantic or exhilarating than what we’d hoped for. But I want to show her that we can still make it fun, even if it’s not what we planned it to be. All we need is her, and me. The rest is irrelevant.
“I love it,” she says simply, softly, and takes a seat to the side of the shark…charbr…the fucking wood board with all the meats and cheeses on it, you know what I mean.
Her eyes are softer than I’ve seen them in a long time when she looks up at me from her spot on the floor, and masculine pride swells in my chest at the sight.
“I wanted to recreate our second date.” I knowexactlywhat those words are going to do, and it doesn’t take two-thirds of a second for her face to turn into a scowl, an outraged shriek piercing the air, shattering the sweet, peaceful calm of a moment prior. Chuckling, I drop down next to her on the blanket and place a hand over hers as she goes off at me.
“Chance Michael Anderson! This was ourfirstdate, and you know it!”
“So the weekend before, when we went to that bar and I got to fuck you on the beach after, that was, just…us being friends?”
Her face tightens even more and she growls viciously at me, making me laugh.
“You knowdamnwell we weren’t dating then!” Her insistent voice is getting louder with each volley, and as fun as it is getting under her skin, I’d rather spend the rest of our afternoon connecting on a more productive level.
“You’re right,” I tell her soothingly, leaning in and cupping her chin with one hand. It takes a minute before her eyes come up to meet mine, but when my hand travels across her throat and settles at the base of her skull, she gives in and I place a soft kiss on her mouth. “But one taste of you was never going to be enough for me, Di. Best fuck of my life, and you think I wasn’t gonna do everything in my power to see you again? Keep seeing you?”
She sighs ever so slightly, leaning forward so her mouth meets mine once again, her body relaxing at the contact before we both pull back, and she’s calmer again now.
“So we’re revisiting our firstrealdate.” It’s somewhere between a statement and a question, how she says it.
“Yeah.” I humor her, my voice as soft and mushy as my insides feel right now.
I start to serve her, pouring a glass of sparkling fucking juice, and make her a plate of things to nibble on while we talk. Cheeses, crackers, a hunk of bread with chunks of olive in it, few pieces of meat, and a creamy dip I know she’s particularly fond of.
“Do you remember that date?” Our eyes meet as I hand her plate over to her, fingers brushing, and fuck if I don’t get a blast of nerves just like I did the first night we did this.
She bites into the bread and nods, eyes still connected.
“We talked about some big shit.”
“We didn’t hold back, did we?” She smiles fondly, chewing, swallowing, and chasing it with a sip of her drink.
“Nah. I was all in on you already, and if you wanted all my secrets, you were gonna get ’em.”
