Page 80 of Backlash

Apparently, Adair can demand all sorts of information about me, but I’m not allowed to ask about something that changed her life dramatically. “I just remember how much you loved to ride horses. Do you miss it?”

“I try not to think about it.” She turns to me and reaches for my hand. “Can we drop it? It’s not a good memory and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Why does that matter?” I ask.

“Because you’ll try to fix it for me,” she says, “like you always do, and this can’t be fixed, which only makes it worse. I did something stupid—-really stupid—and I can’t take it back. That’s all you need to know.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” I say, squeezing her hand. She falls so silent afterwards that I nearly drive off the road turning my attention to her. Her face is stricken—white as a magnolia petal—and the moment our eyes meet, she blinks and shakes the look off her face.

“It’s worth a lot,” she says at last.

“But it doesn’t change anything,” I guess. “Okay, happier topic. Have you figured out where we’re going yet?”

“You really aren’t going to tell me?” She twists in her seat and turns wide eyes on me.

“No. You’ll see.”

“What if I guess?” she asks.

“You haven’t exactly been playing that game.”

“We’re going to Valmont but not Windfall, so the quad? Or to Market Street for dinner?”

I grin. “Terrible guesses. I want somewhere private, but neutral,” I add quickly. “Besides, I already have dinner.” I hitch my thumb to the back seat.

Adair peeks into the back and spots my carefully prepared picnic basket. “A picnic? Is that a good idea?”

“The weather’s right.”

“It’s hot as hell,” she says in disbelief.

“It’s cooling off.” I dismiss her concern, because I know the real reason she’s against the idea. A picnic might take place in neutral territory, but there’s a good chance we’ll wind up alone.

“You’re the worst,” she says as if guessing my thoughts.

“No, Lucky, I’m an opportunist,” I tell her, turning the car down a narrow lane.

“Wait, where are we going for this picnic?” She looks out the window and groans when she processes the scenery outside. “You’re shameless.”

“It’s a public place. Outdoors. Suuuuuper neutral.”

“Little Love isn’t what I had in mind,” she says dryly.

“You only said neutral,” I remind her.

“You're shameless.” Despite her objections, her hand stays warm and soft in mine as the car climbs up the winding road to the highest point in Valmont.

Little Love is named after its much more impressive cousin Love Circle, which overlooks the whole of Nashville. Love Circle is a spectacular spot for seeing the entire city, the kind of place where someone is always proposing marriage or taking couple’s portraits. That means it’s not exactly off the beaten track.

Little Love, on the other hand, looks out over Valmont University. During the academic year, couples visit it for slightly more debauched reasons. It’s a place to get away from your roommate or smoke pot. But right now Valmont is between summer sessions, and hardly anyone sticks around for classes during the summer, anyway. That means there won’t be many people here. Not only will it get me alone with Adair, it also will make certain the wrong people don’t hear something they shouldn’t. Adair wants to know about the past few years? Fine. But I can’t take the chance that Noah Porter is around, or that someone from the Koltsov family is following me.

When we reach the top of the hill, we don’t just find it quiet, we find it deserted. Lights twinkle in the dusky orange sky above us, the university sprawls below us. If Love Circle is the quintessentially urban romantic spot in Nashville, Little Love is the country dream version. Small sparks pop in and out of the air around us as the lightning bugs come out for the evening. They’re joined by a symphony of cicadas. It should be magical, but Adair sits in protest in the passenger seat while I lay out a wool blanket and start setting things up.

I pour a glass of wine for her and pop open a Pellegrino for myself, then I hook my index finger, beckoning her to join me. Her eyes narrow and her mouth flattens as if she’s seriously considering staying put.

“Lucky, come on, let’s talk!” I call.

She throws her hands in the air, but finally climbs out of the car. She stops on the edge of the blanket and stares down at the feast I’ve laid out. “What is this?”