Page 56 of Short Stack 3

He nods. “A kitchen garden is a place full of energy and hope.”

“Hope for what?”

“For the coming seasons. It contains the desire that we shall be fed and happy, and if you listen carefully, you can feel the joyof the gardeners at providing food for others grown with their own hands. Underneath all that is the happy song that all plants sing under the sun.”

I kiss his cheek, making him smile. “Well, I came to ask if you wanted to play hooky and hide by the pond.”

“Hooky? What is this thing?” He hesitates. “Would it be something to do with the art of fishing?”

“I don’t think further exploring that art is advisable, lovey. You fell in the river when I tried to reach you to fish.”

“Pah! There is too much to see in this world to stand still and try to catch creatures who are happier in the water.”

“I think you’re right.” I hold up the bag. “Anyway, I brought provisions.”

“Ooh, is that food?” he exclaims.

He takes the bag from me, looking inside with his usual exuberance and enthusiasm about food. “Oh, there are sandwiches made with the bread I saw Mrs Cooper making this morning. What is inside them?”

“Cold honey-baked ham and homemade tomato chutney.”

“Then we have thick pieces of cheese, two of Mrs Cooper’s apple tarts, and some cold ginger ale. It is a feast fit for a king, my Barnaby. Thank you for thinking of me.”

“I’m pretty sure King Charles doesnoteat his lunch sitting on a man’s lap in an old shed.”

“Then I pity him.” He takes a bite of his sandwich and chews happily. “This is the life. Barnaby,” he pronounces with his mouth full, and I shake my head, bringing out my own sandwich.

Eventually, I shift my behind to a chair, and we spread our feast out on the old table while discussing our day and plans. It’s something we always find time to do. However busy our days are, we make sure to spend time together. He’s my best friend, my lover, and my everything. Even after nearly a year, I still have to pinch myself that this life is mine.

When the food is gone, I start to pack away the picnic, watching as he stands up and vaults the veranda in one lithe move. “Where are you going?” I ask.

I smile as he makes his way around the borders. He’s tanned from the summer sun with gold streaks in his silky hair.

“I want to show you what I found.” He reaches into the branches of the plum tree and exclaims in happiness. “Here, my Barnaby.”

I lean over the balustrade and take the plum from him. It’s purple and sun-warm in my hand. “These are early. Are they okay to eat?”

He winks. “Of course. Mayhap they had a little help.”

I grin at him. “You’re like human compost.”

He wrinkles his nose. “I hope not. That doesnotsmell nice. Once, they spread it on the gardens, and the sculpture room was full of the smell. It made our eyes water. Mrs Cooper made a great fuss about it and hung air fresheners everywhere.” He winks. “She hung one from my penis. It is nice to know it is good for things other than making you scream with joy.”

“I’m fairly sure I don’tscream,” I say primly and very untruthfully.

He laughs. “Oh, my Barnaby, it is a song for you and me.” He pauses, thinking. “And anyone on the same floor as our apartment.”

“Oh mygod,” I breathe.

He laughs again, the sound joyous and merry. He gestures at the plum. “Eat it, my love.”

I take a bite, savouring the sweet flesh in my mouth. “Delicious,” I say after I swallow.

He smiles, returning to his seat and biting into his own plum. I watch interestedly as his full lips glisten with the juice and then lean in to lick across his biteable bottom lip before sliding my tongue in alongside his to taste more of the fruit’s sweetness.

He groans and drops the plum, pulling me to him and holding me tight as he kisses me back.

When we pull away, our breaths are short, and I have to reach down and adjust myself. He’s in no better condition. He looks at me with a flush over his high cheekbones.

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