Cosmo magazine was full of it. I didn’t need to grill him about himself. I just need to be me. I only stopped breathing a couple of times when I caught him staring with something in his eyes that looked like wonder.
“We’re here,” he said, his excitement was contagious.
“Where’s here?” I peered out the window.
We were parked at the edge of a monster field of wildflowers. There was no moon, but the stars were out and bathed the scene before me with a soft glittery glow. It was exquisite.
“Is there a restaurant here?”
“I brought the restaurant with us." He gave me an irresistible grin.
“Okay.” I was confused.
“Come on.” He got out of the truck and went around to the back.
He handed me a soft blanket and pulled out a large cooler. “Follow me,” he instructed.
I did. If he had told me to stand on my head and yodel, I would have done that too.
He spread the blanket on the ground and opened the cooler. It was filled with all sorts of yummy food. He laid out plates and napkins, patted the ground next to him and waited for me to join.
Was I nuts? I was alone with a guy I barely knew in the middle of nowhere. It was an awfully pretty flower field middle of nowhere, but nowhere nonetheless. The flowers were not the prettiest thing here. . .he was, but that was beside the point. I was having insane urges to touch him and my stomach was flipping around like it was hosting an international gymnastics competition. This was a recipe for disaster.
My body tensed and I considered running away, but I had no idea where we were. My grip was tenuous at best on all of the emotions ping ponging around inside me. Just as I was about to give into my fear and run, he started to sing one of my favorite Barry Manilow songs. . .badly.
“Oh Dixie, well you came and you gave without taking, but I sent you away
Oh Dixie, well you kissed me and stopped me from shaking
And I need you today, oh Dixie…”
“Stop,” I laughed, and dove toward him to cover his mouth with my hand. “You’re destroying Barry!”
I tripped over the blanket and onto Hayden. I knocked him to his back and ended up right on top of him, nose to nose. Time stopped along with my breathing capabilities. My world was right and I felt happy. I was safe all tangled up in his big strong body. I knew my eyes were beginning to glitter with tears. It was so perfect that it scared the Hell out of me. Way more than Ernest Hemingway did when I was five.
“You don’t like my singing?” he whispered, our lips almost touching.
“Um, no. It was awful."
His green eyes sparkled in the starlight and he took a shaky breath. Was he as affected as I was? Did he feel the same things?
“You’ve mortally wounded me,” he teased. “My secret ambition is to be a rock star.”
“You’re going to need to rethink that one.”
My voice sounded wobbly to my own ears and my eyes were glued to his mouth. I carefully eased away and attempted to squash down my raging hormones. Wasn’t working.
Disappointment flashed in his eyes. I couldn’t tell if it was because I moved or because I had insulted his singing. He didn’t try to stop my retreat, which was a relief. Kind of.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, sitting up, seemingly unaware of my inner turmoil. He moved to the cooler.
“Sure,” I replied as I removed imaginary lint from my jeans. I watched him through lowered lashes and picked at my manicure. I thought about sitting on my hands to keep from reaching for him, but I worried that might look weird.
“What do you want?” He held up two sandwiches. “I’ve got turkey and gouda or ham and brie. I also have cheese and crackers, bruschetta, wine, strawberries and dark chocolate.”
I wasn’t sure I could keep food down with the circus performing in my stomach, but I was hungry. I certainly didn’t want him to think I was one of those girls who didn’t eat. I loved to eat. “Ham, please.”
“Coming right up,” he smiled. He made two heaping plates. I grabbed a glass of wine and my plate and dug in.
“Mmm,” I said after taking a bite of my sandwich. “This is amazing. Where’d you get it?”
“I made it,” he told me as he bit into his own.
“Really?”
“Dixie,” he laughed. “You’re going to give me a complex. First you think I’m illiterate and now you’re shocked I can make a sandwich.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that you’re so. . .” I stopped, unable to tell him how beautiful and amazing and smart and funny I thought he was.
“Just because I’m Satan’s gift to women.” He grinned evilly and flexed his considerable muscles. “Doesn’t mean I’m as dumb as a box of hair,” he teased as he continued to flex and make ridiculous sound effects.
“I don’t think you’re dumb at all,” I protested, rolling my eyes at his macho display. “You just keep surprising me.”
“In a good way?” He tilted his head and ran his finger down my arm.
My arm tingled with his energy. “In a very good way.”
We ate in silence. A gentle breeze caressed my bare arms and flowers danced in the field like colorful little fairies. I was happy. I kept stealing glances at the beautiful boy who made amazing sandwiches. Every time I peeked, he was staring at me.
“Do you want anything else?” Hayden asked.
Boy, there’s a loaded question. “Um. . .no, I’m good.”