He laughs and shakes his head. “You’re such a little weirdo.”
“I just can’t help but think that it affects your development.”
He puts both hands on the bag. “Do you suspect there is something wrong with my development?”
“No, well, maybe.” I laugh as he tilts his head towards me, briefly offended. “I just think, without those formative experiences, you know, without those moments of vulnerability and terror, how can you…be a compassionate person?”
“Are you saying I’m an asshole?”
“No, no,” I laugh, more at myself than at him and how badly I am bungling this. “You’re very lovely. I just mean, have you ever wondered what it’s like to be someone else? Someone who has had a very different life?”
He leans forward, placing a light kiss on my forehead, “That’s what acting is, sweetheart.”
He reaches for the bag again and unpacks it, still seated next to me, fully dressed. He told me to meet him here at noon and the moment I stepped into the clearing, demanded I take off all my clothes. Not one to refuse a great idea, I did and now I’m enjoying the warmth of a light summer breeze, the smell of earth and forest, and the sound of various containers being unpacked and spread out.
“What is all this?” I ask, my eyes closed and head resting on my folded arms. I am lying face down, and David gently pats my bottom as he continues to unwrap and open tiny containers.
“We’re picnicking.”
“You prepared a picnic?” I open my eyes and lift my head slightly, just enough to glance at his offerings. My eyes widen as I see the selection before me- truffles from the chocolate store, slices of pie from Dory, a container of lobster meat, grilled scallops, a salad of chicken and dried cherries, and a pitcher of fresh iced tea with lemon wedges floating in the top. It was a who’s-who of Midnight’s finest delicatessens, bakeries, and cafes.
“When did you buy all this?”
“I went shopping yesterday.”
My eyebrows lift, “In town? In public?” Despite our many nights and afternoons together, David and I rarely spend time in public. While there is no screaming or staring or stampeding (yet), I overhear whispers about him in line at the grocery store, comments about him in the bookstore.
There is no connection to me, thank god. I guess our dinner at Dory’s didn’t catch anyone’s attention, but as the whispers continue, and grow louder, I’m hesitant to meet him in public. It wouldn’t take much for a photo from a phone to appear on a website, for colleagues who only speak with me when they need a signature to start asking me about my private life.
I wonder, sometimes, if I’m protecting him, or myself.
He nods, interrupting my reverie and popping a slice of grilled peach in my mouth before I can question him further. “I was headed to the bookstore and decided to see what I could come up with on the spur of the moment.”
“This is pretty impressive for spur of the moment.” It is also, quite possibly, the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.
“Almost finished.”
“There’s more?” I press myself up, stomach still resting on the soft wool blanket, upper body supported by my arms.
He unscrews the top from a tiny bottle and sprinkles droplets of something aromatic across my back and down each leg.
“Aromatherapy?” I ask.
“Natural insect repellent,” he replies. “You said you were sensitive and I demand you stay naked.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you.”
“I also have another blanket, if you absolutely insist on covering yourself. But that’s for emergencies only.”
“Or I could just put my clothes back on.”
He shakes his head, “Emergencies. Only.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“What did you buy at the bookstore?” I watch as he organizes every dish in a display on the blanket, then sits cross legged next to me, absentmindedly caressing me from waist to thigh as he hands me a glass of iced tea mixed with fresh lavender and lemonade.
“Nothing.”
I moan softly as I take a bite of lobster, still warm from the melted butter drizzled across the top. He grins as he watches me.
“I’m impressed,” I reach for my glass. “I can’t get out of a bookstore for less than $50, and that’s only if there’s a sale.” I walk one hand up his thigh, enjoying the bunch of muscle beneath my fingertips. “What are we going to do out here if we have nothing to read?”
“We have something to read,” he places his hand over mine, stilling my wandering fingers, “but I didn’t buy it in a bookstore.”
“Oh?” I sit upright, briefly conscious of my nudity against his clothing, but enjoying the feel of his eyes on me. I feel simultaneously vulnerable and free, seated next to him like this, one leg wrapped around him, one hand on his knee, naked as the day I was born.
“It’s a script,” he glances down and I see a stack of pages at the bottom of his bag.
“For a film?”
He nods.
“Let-” I reach for it but he grabs my hand, stopping me and looking in my eyes. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was shy, or self-conscious. A hint of vulnerability crosses his face and I can’t hide my surprise. “What kind of script is it?”
“It’s new.”
“Ok,” I shake my head in confusion. “I won’t tell anyone about it, if it’s a secret or something. We don’t have to read it.”
“I want you to read it. I want your opinion.”
He opens his mouth and I wait.
“It’s…something I’ve been working on.”
“Are you writing something?”
He nods again, glancing down, suddenly bashful and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, this giant, gorgeous creature, all sex and confidence, showing hesitation and nervousness. I lean forward and press a kiss against his lips, my hand gentle against his cheek.
“Show me,” I whisper against his lips.
He pulls out the pages, holding them in his lap.
“They’re not…it’s just a rough draft.”
“Show
