I keep moving, preparing everything. I turn the fire pit outside on. The throw blanket from the sofa goes on one of the chairs. Plates, napkins, two glasses. I find a Barolo I've been saving and decide tonight is as good a reason as any. Miles Davis keeps going.
I'm almost done when I hear the soft sound of someone at the threshold.
She's standing at the edge where inside becomes outside. My sweatpants low on her hips, several times folded at the bottom, my t-shirt hanging off one shoulder and down past mid-thigh. Her hair is loose and still damp, falling past her chest, dark against the white fabric. I didn't know it was this long, I've only ever seen it up.
Seeing her like this, in my space, with my clothes on, makes me groan on the back of my throat. Just when I thought I had my dick under control.
I pick up the nearest throw pillow and strategically fluff it in front of me.
She stays in the doorway, unsure.
I beckon her near with my hand. "Feeling better?"
"Much." A tired smile. Genuine. "Thank you. For everything."
I take her hand and bring her to the chairs by the fire. We sit close. Our knees almost touch. She's watching the flames. I'm watching her.
The doorbell sounds. I get up. I use the thirty seconds it takes me to get to the door and back to remind myself that tonight is about her recovering from a hard experience, needing somewhere and someone safe. That's all.
The restaurant sent a small ramekin of prosciutto and torn cheese with a handwritten note:for the cat.
I stand in the kitchen holding it for a moment, trying to decide whether this is ridiculous or not. I don’t arrive at any conclusion so I just put it on the floor. The cat sniffs it first, looks up at me and he must consider that is worthy of his attention and starts to eat.
I take the pizza outside.
"I always want something greasy after a long night," I say, setting the box between us.
"Pizza is one of my favorites," she says, and takes a slice.
I pour the wine. She eats about half of a slice, then puts the plate down, picks up her glass and turns it in her hands. I watch her not eat for another minute.
"Not hungry?"
"Not really." She sets the glass down. "I think we should just get to the talking part."
I push my plate aside. Wipe my hands. I turn my chair fully toward her and wait.
She takes a deep breath in. "It's true that I was trespassing."
I stay quiet.
"But it was with good intentions. I know that doesn't justify it. Good intentions, hell…and all that." She stops herself. Starts again. "Have you ever heard of Green Guerrilla?"
"No." I admit.
"Yeah, I don't know why you would…" She mutters while watching the fire. "It's a volunteer group. We build green spaces for the public. Mostly in areas that used to be green spaces, but for some reason aren’t anymore. Abandoned lots, public areas that get no attention..."
I can already see where this is going. "And do you have authorization for that?"
"No." She says it plainly, no apology in it. "That's the whole point. We go where nobody else will. Spaces that have been dead for years, nobody using them. "
I catch the word and ask. "We?"
She looks at me. "Yes. We." A pause. "I'm part of the group. In reality I organize most of it. Find the sites, recruit the volunteers, source the plants."
Silence. The fire pops once.
"And tonight?" I prompt.
