Page 29 of Smooth Talk

“Just a blanket, a pitcher and a basket. The pond is just past the greenhouse about a quarter of a mile down that garden path.” He points out the window so I can see the path mentioned. It doesn’t look too bad; I look down at my clothing. Light cardigan over a flowy floral shirt, skinny jean capris and espadrilles. It’s kind of the perfect picnic outfit.

I haven’t had anything to eat since I nabbed some apps before the party and the promise of food sounds heavenly. “Are Pilar’s snickerdoodles in that basket by chance?”

He smiles at that, “Guess you’ll have to come along to find out, won’t you?” That smile sets my heart fluttering, and those dang butterflies are back. I find myself smiling and shaking my head and agreeing to this seemingly spontaneous adventure. I should have expected something. Afterall he had texted, ‘it’s a date.’ It’s so much harder to tell him no in person. I wonder if this was his plan all along. The little sneak.

I can’t deny that it’s easy with him. When we first met, I was too stricken by his appearance to say anything intelligent; my physical reaction to him had been overwhelming. But something happened when we were dancing together. My brain and mouth began working in conjunction and the conversation flowed easily, and I found myself opening up to him in a way I haven’t in a long time. And he’d been just as open and honest with me. I felt a comfort with him, and the Maxwell family, like they were an extension of my own. Which is ridiculous; I barely know these people. Even so, that kindred spirit feeling just won’t go away.

I feel it even now, watching Harper skip along the path next to a virtual stranger waxing poetic about the merits of ponies. The kid is obsessed, but it would appear that Grayson has an affinity for the animals as well. He tosses a smile at me over his shoulder and I’m momentarily blinded by its brightness.

“We’re here.” Absorbed in their chatter (not to mention my own little world where his glorious backside has taken center stage), I didn’t realize the wooded path we’ve been walking along had opened up. I look beyond him and see a small pond glittering in the sunshine, surrounded by an acre or so of tall grass with a few mature oak trees sprinkled here and there. He stops under one of them and gestures to Harper to hand him the blanket she carried, then spreads it out on the ground, kneels and places the basket next to him. I set down the pitcher of lemonade I’d carried and took a seat between my two cheerful companions. The smell of citronella draws my gaze to the lower branches of the tree where several lightly glowing mason jars hang from long wire-like strings. Someone must’ve come out earlier to prepare the space. He did plan this. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a boy scout on our hands.

“I’m glad you decided to make it up to me,” he says as he hands me a chicken salad stuffed croissant wrapped in parchment paper and a paper cup of lemonade. I’m pretty sure he enlisted the help of Pilar for all of this. Not blaming him; if I had a classically trained chef at my disposal, I’d utilize the privilege daily. There’s quite the spread here: crustless PB&J’s (for Harp), fresh fruit, pretzels, cut veggies, hummus and—you guessed it— snickerdoodles.

“And what, exactly, am I making amends for?” I ask, puzzled.

“You made us all look very bad today. Mimi’s going to be difficult to shop for this Christmas.” I smile in understanding. “Still, I hardly think a lunch date will cover your transgressions. I think repentance on this scale calls for dinner.”

I laugh lightly. “Let’s see how today goes first, shall we?” Harper is busy stuffing her face with fresh strawberries, her favorite, and pointing out all the wildlife in the area from deer to butterflies. I’m thankful there aren’t any ants… yet. The candles are doing their part to keep the majority of the annoying flying insects at bay.

We sit, talk and eat for the next twenty minutes before Harper gets the wiggles and asks to explore. I tell her to stay close so I can keep an eye on her, and not to get too near the water.

“The pond is only about five feet deep in the middle, the edges are fairly shallow.” He takes in my worried expression. “Can she swim?”

“She’s had lessons for the past two years, but I still worry. The life of a parent I guess.” I say off handedly.

There’s a neighing sound in the distance and a look of pure joy crosses my daughter’s features. “Do you gots ponies?” she asks excitedly.

Grayson smiles at her shaking his head, “No ma’am. The Freeman’s have a horse ranch a few miles away, and their trails run through the woods behind our property.”

Her little face falls, then perks up again, “Maybe we gets to see real horses!”

“Maybe, Bug. Keep an eye out.” That’s all the direction she needs to start an investigation of the tree line.

“Does she ride?”

I shake my head, but add, “she doesn’t know it yet, but I got her lessons for her birthday.”

“She’ll be six?” He asks and I nod. “When?”

“June 30th. I’m throwing her a unicorn themed party this year. The girl has some serious equine love.” I’m smiling as I say it. “We throw a big bash every year to celebrate. It makes me as happy as it does her. We get all of our family and friends together. I want her to see how important those relationships are; it’s not about the gifts or the cake.” I pause for a second, “Okay, it’s a little bit about the cake.” He laughs lightly at my joke and it sets my heart fluttering again. “It’s about the people in our lives that we love, that love us. Spending time with them, nurturing those relationships. And Harp’s at the center of that for me. She’s just the best thing in my whole world.” I end with a small shrug.

“You’re a good mom, Poppy.” He smiles at me and I can’t help smiling back. He’s so handsome, and he’s looking at me so intently; I almost forget that we’re not alone. I’m so ready to throw caution to the wind and throw myself at this perfect man. His lips look soft, but firm. I wonder how they’d feel against mine. Is he gentle? Assertive? Sloppy? I can’t imagine he does anything sloppily. My daughter’s shrieks of laughter echo off the water, as she chases a butterfly, and pull me out of the gutter I’d been frolicking in.

He asks me about my business and the conversation easily flows from our town to friends and family. We talk as easily as lifelong friends, but there’s still so much I want to learn about him.

Harper comes back to the blanket, excited, but clearly tired from her afternoon of exploration, momentarily halting our conversation. “Da fish is jumping out of da water mama! How do dey breave like dat?”

“They’re only out for a few seconds, maybe they hold their breath,” I offer. I confess, I know absolutely nothing about fish.

“Some jump to catch their food,” Grayson offers, “or because they’re scared. Fish can do all kinds of cool stuff.” Harper, clearly enraptured, stares at him. “Have you ever been fishing?” He asks her. While my father is an avid fisherman, he’s never taken Harper. Says, ‘fishing is for the men, I don’t ask to go shopping with you ladies.’ Honestly, I couldn’t think of a worse punishment for my father than having him help me pick out paint and pillows, but I did feel a little left out when I was younger and he and my uncles would take their annual fishing trip and take my male cousins along. It never seemed fair to me. Maybe I’m pining for something I wouldn’t even enjoy. I mean, the thought of actually baiting a hook is very unappealing.

“Never,” Harper admits, “my Papa goes all da time, but I don’t gets to go cause I’m a girl.” She apparently doesn’t get the ‘boys only’ concept either and it dawns on me now that my dad is missing a golden opportunity to bond with his granddaughter. Grayson doesn’t have the same issues.

“What? Fishing should be enjoyed by everyone! Girls and Boys, young and old. I’ll take you. You free next Sunday?” He’s asking us both. Am I ready to go out with him again just yet, and with my daughter too? I don’t know how deeply I want her involved with him. Things are happening a little too fast. I think we should slow down. Attending the late service at Willow Creek United Methodist is the extent of my plans every Sunday. It’s my day to sleep in, and we usually just veg out after church. It’s the one day a week I can solely devote to Harp and the lord, but before I can voice my reservations, Harper answers for us.

“Really? You gonna teach me to fish?” She sounds so excited; I can hardly say no now. What’s the harm in letting her learn a sport (game? skill? whatever.) that, as Grayson tells it, should be enjoyed by everyone. I guess I’d still be spending time with Harp; Grayson would just be an added bonus. And my father has often said he’s never felt closer to God than when he’s fishing.

“Yes ma’am.”

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