Page 77 of How to Love a Rockstar

We walk a bit further until we reach a meadow overlooking the waterfall and river. “We can leave our bikes here.”

We park our bikes and he grasps my hand. “Ready?”

I bounce on my toes. “Ready!”

He whirls me around and points to the middle of the clearing where there’s a checkered picnic blanket with a wicker picnic basket on top of it. I hurry toward it.

“I’ve never had a picnic before,” I say as he helps me onto the blanket.

“Never?”

“Nope.”

“Not even when you were a kid?”

“Do I need to explain the definition of never to you?”

“Smart ass.”

“Have you had many picnics before?” I ask and immediately regret it. I don’t need the details of the other romantic encounters he’s had. I know he’s had them. Details are not needed.

“When one of my sisters was having a bad day, I’d make her favorite food and we’d have a picnic on the living room floor while watching her favorite movie.”

I sigh. “You’re the best brother ever.”

Unlike my a-word step-brothers who thought it was fun to torture me more when I was having a bad day. I learned awful quick to hide my emotions from them.

He snorts. “They didn’t think I was the best brother ever when I reminded them to finish their homework or grilled their dates.”

But he cared and they knew it. I bet they think he’s the best brother now.

He opens the picnic basket. “What do we have here?”

“I don’t know.” I peer inside. “Holy cow. Did you make all of this?”

“It wasn’t hard,” he claims as he begins to remove containers from the basket, but his blush tells a different story.

I kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Ginny.”

I have the feeling he has more to say but he returns his attention to the basket and pulls out a bottle of champagne.

“I know you prefer beer but I thought you might want to try this.”

I snatch the bottle from him. “Try this? Of course, I want to try this. I’ve never had champagne before.”

“You’ve never had champagne before?”

I roll my eyes. “Not all of us are famous rockstars.”

“If you enjoy it, we’ll drink it more often.”

He takes the bottle from me and opens it. I squeal and clap when it pops. I dig some glasses out of the basket and he fills them.

“To us.” I hold up my glass.

“To us,” he repeats and clinks my glass with his.

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