“Start setting up while I change, and I’ll be right there.” I nod. I’m used to this. It doesn’t take him long to shift, but he’s shy and is more comfortable when I’m not looking.
I let the backpack slide off my shoulders, unzip it, and reach for the blanket inside. I lay it out on the roof and then pull out the containers with the chocolate-covered strawberries and the piece of burnt cheesecake, and lastly, the can of whipped cream. Big, strong arms wrap around my waist. He pulls me upright against his chest.
“Did I mention I love having you pressed against me with your legs spread?” Stone’s rumbly voice rasps in my ear before I feel his lips against my neck.
“Once or twice on the way over.”
“Mmm. I should have said it more.” I turn in his arms. “As much as I loved that, I love carrying you in my arms even more. That way I can look down at your beautiful face.”
“You really mean that, don’t you?” I’m surprised by the sincerity in his voice.
“That I love to look at you?”
I shrug. “Yes. That, and when you call me beautiful. You really do like me.”
“No, Camilla.” Unlike any other time in my life, his denial doesn’t concern me. I don’t get overwhelmed with angst to the point I can’t breathe, or have pain in my belly because I feel like the rug is about to be pulled out from under me. Everything about Stone—what he says and does—tells me that he truly cares. He brushes the hair away from my face. “I don’t like you.” He takes my hand and brings it to his lips for a sweet kiss. “I love you.”
There’s a fullness in my chest. A feeling of hope and contentment that a person only has when they feel cherished. It comes from Stone. From being with him. From the way he treats me, like I’m precious.
“Come.” Tugging his hand, I sit on the blanket and pull him to join me. “Sit.”
“What’s this?” He looks at the containers of food I brought with us as he settles down beside me and straightens out his legs.
“I brought dessert. An after-dinner picnic.” I show him a few of the closed containers, but pull them away before he can get a good look.
He sits so that our outer thighs touch. I pick up the container of chocolate-covered strawberries and the can of whipped cream. It’s not as good as my homemade cream, but it’ll do.
“What’s that?”
I turn my torso in a poor attempt to hide it so that I can surprise him.
“Close your eyes and open your mouth, and you’ll get a surprise.”
“You first.”
“C’mon, play along. You’ll like it.”
“I could say the same.”
I spray a little cream around the pointy peak of a strawberry, using my body to hide it from view, and cover his eyes with my hand.
“Now open your mouth, and don’t bite.” Once his lips part, I turn so that I’m perpendicular to him and rub the end of the strawberry over his bottom lip, leaving some of the cream in its wake. Pulling back a little, I watch Stone’s tongue lick it up.
“Mmm.”
“Open up again.” This time, he doesn’t argue and does as he’s told. Setting the tip over his bottom teeth, I instruct him to bite. Once he starts chewing, he opens his eyes.
“That’s delicious. I like this game.”
“I thought you might.” I feed him the rest of the strawberry, which he eats eagerly as I prepare the next one.
“My turn,” Stone says, after finishing his third.
“I already know what they are.”
“Uh, eh, do as you’re told,” he chides.
I take a breath, and unlike him, follow the directions.
