Chapter 10
AS far as I was concerned, my birthday could have ended at noon. Because the gorgeous bouquet of wildflowers, handpicked by an Adonis, and the personalized jewelry, created by the Adonis himself, had already surpassed my wildest birthday dreams. To be honest, I was afraid the rest of the day would turn out to be a letdown in comparison.
But I was wrong.
“Where are we going?” I asked, as Mick cautiously strung me along behind him blindfolded. “I guarantee I’m gonna trip,” I threatened. “Just so you know.”
He laughed. “Thanks for the heads up, but I’m being very careful. You’ll be fine if you just go slow,” he assured me. “I would never put you in any danger.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t, but I’m a total klutz. It wouldn’t necessarily be your fault,” I explained. “Because with this thing over my eyes, I’m like a…” How lame. I couldn’t even think of one good comparison to make him understand how impaired I really was. “Oh, forget it,” I said with an exasperated sigh. “Just wake me up when we get there.”
“All right. But you’re not going to get much sleep,” Mick said, chuckling. “We’re almost there.”
Thank God. I mean, I wasn’t trying to be a stick-in-the-mud or anything, but there was only so much excitement I could take for one day. Plus, all the eye closing and blindfolding was making me skittish.
Somewhere in front of me, Mick came to an abrupt stop, which I guess signaled the end of our journey. “So this is it, I assume. The next stop on the tour?” I said, not even bothering to disguise my crankiness.
“Wow, Miss Fontain. I did not know you could be so difficult,” he teased. “Yes, we’re at our destination. You may remove your blindfold.”
I unwound the bumblebee necktie and freed my crispy bangs, only to find that we were back at the lake again, in the same spot where we’d taken our romantic dip. And the place was deserted, just like before.
“This looks familiar,” I said, surprised by, well, the lack of surprise.
“Does it? Really? Look around,” Mick encouraged. “You may find something different. Something that wasn’t here before.”
Sure enough, a quick scan of the beach revealed an aluminum rowboat, two life jackets, and two sets of paddles.
“Where are the fishing rods?” I asked, only half kidding, as we headed toward the boat. After all, he’d said this was a good fishing spot, so anything was possible.
“Fishing? No,” Mick said, smirking and shaking his head. “Not a bad idea, but I had something more special in mind.”
“Okay…”
“Turn around,” he said, gesturing over my shoulder. “I think you missed something.”
I followed his instructions, and, of course, he was right again. Behind us on the sand was a large wicker picnic basket I hadn’t noticed before. “Lunch? On the water?” I asked.
He nodded. “Precisely. It’ll be fun, right?”
“Sure. Yeah,” I agreed warily. In theory, a romantic lake picnic was a smashing idea. But I wasn’t exactly convinced we could pull it off. “I’m just warning you, though, I have no coordination. You might end up rowing this thing all by yourself,” I said, tapping my toes against the side of the boat.
“Piece of cake. You don’t even have to try if you don’t want to. I’ve got it.”
“Oh, I’ll try,” I objected, insulted by the idea I’d give up on something without first failing miserably. “Just don’t expect much, that’s all.”
“Whatever you do will be perfect,” Mick assured me with a sweet little peck on the cheek. Then he retrieved the picnic basket, hoisted it into the boat, and locked an arm around my waist to steady me as I stepped over the side. And once I was comfortably seated on the paint-chipped bench, he gave the boat a few manly shoves toward the water and hopped in.
Technically, we weren’t actually floating yet; we were just kind of bottomed-out in the muck. “For you,” Mick said, passing me a standard orange life vest from the floor. “Just to be on the safe side. Need help getting it on?”
“If I did, you’d be the one I’d ask,” I joked.
But apparently I was at least proficient at putting on a life jacket, which impressed Mick to no end. “Good job,” he praised, as I tied the last pair of grubby straps into a neat bow. “Those things can be very tricky. And you handled it like a pro on the first try.” He winked at me playfully.
Okay, enough already with the unwarranted praise. I mean, sure, some sick part of me was getting a cheap thrill out of all the fawning, but such over the top sucking up couldn’t continue forever.
I picked up the oars next to me and dangled them over the sides, while Mick attempted to dislodge us from the muck by brute force. “Want me to help you?” I asked, as he vigorously stabbed at the lake bottom.
“That’s okay. Save your energy,” he said. “We’ll be out of here in no time.”
With a few more jabs, he launched us on our journey. And while he rowed away in silence, I stared lovingly at his beautiful face and daydreamed of our unlikely future. Because already, in the impossibly short time I’d known him, Mick had changed me. He was the sunlight that made me bloom, and I never, ever wanted to fall back into the darkness.
“Do you believe in fate?” I asked. “Like things being meant to be?”
He pulled the oars inside the boat and let us drift. “Hmm… I don’t know,” he pondered, studying my face like he was trying to solve a riddle. “I think some things are more likely than others, if you know what I mean.”
“Huh?”
“Well, I just mean some things are more natural,” he clarified. “There are forces pushing us in predictable directions.”
“Like fate?”
“I wouldn’t call it fate. That sounds so final,” he said, shaking his head. “Look at it this way: The universe presents us with opportunities, then we decide. But the universe determines the opportunities, so predictable things end up happening. Does that make any sense?” he asked with a frown.
“Yes and no,” I admitted. Really, all I wanted to know was if he thought we were meant to be together. “Do you think the universe picked us for each other?” I asked. “Is there anything special about us?”
He shot me a perfectly-crooked, understanding smile. “Well, what I said about predictability—it’s probably true in most cases: the expected thing happens. But sometimes something special—something out of the ordinary—comes along,” he said, winking. “Sure, it’s rare. Probably more rare than, oh, getting struck by lighting. But if you pay attention, if you look for them, these surprises can change your life.”
“Is that what we’re doing? Changing each other’s lives?” I dared to ask.
“I think so,” he said. “Love is powerful. It leaves a mark. And I can only speak for myself, but finding you, knowing you, loving you—it’s marked me for life.”
Once again, I was floored. My hot, sweet Mick was so insightful. So philosophical. And so in love…with me? It was all too good to be true, which made me wonder for a second if maybe it wasn’t. I mean, maybe I was rowing around the lake by myself with my imaginary new boyfriend. Or maybe I’d conked my head back at the rest area, and now I was in a hallucinatory coma. Almost anything seemed more plausible than the truth.
“I love you,” I said. “And ditto on everything. I’m marked now too.”
I leaned forward for a kiss, which predictably sent the boat sloshing from side to side. So Mick clamped his hands around my waist and steadied me for a deep, wet one. Unfortunately, though, our kissing had to come to a premature halt, because as hard as we tried, we couldn’t stop the boat from threatening to drown us.
“Ready for lunch?” Mick asked, as I shimmied back to my seat. “I made you a birthday picnic.”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” I said. I mean, I didn’t want to burst his bubble, but my dad had already surprised me with my favorite food on earth: Belgian waffles. In my opinion, it was all downhill from there.
Mick rowed us back toward shore, stopping only when the front of our boat dug into the sandy lake bottom.
“You’ll need one of these,” he said, passing me a rugged paper plate, which I balanced across my knees. “And these too.” He handed me a white linen napkin and a plastic fork.
“Ooh, fancy!” I teased.
Mick just grinned. “Do you like salad?” he asked. “Because I made Caesar for the first course.” He retrieved a Tupperware container and a big silver serving spoon from the basket and dished out two perfect portions.
“Salad’s okay,” I said, hardly believing a man would even make such a thing in the first place. But hey, maybe he thought all girls were on diets. After a few bites, I stopped to dab my face with the frou-frou napkin and said, “It’s good. I like it. You’re quite the chef.”
The second I finished my salad, Mick moved directly to the main course: grilled cheese. Carefully, I pried the wax paper from the slightly soggy sandwich—which he had cut on the diagonals—and took a bite.
“Mmm…” I hummed, letting the rich, buttery bread and smooth cheese dissolve on my tongue. “This tastes different. What’s in it?”
“Oh, it’s probably the cheese. Instead of American, I used cheddar. It’s much more flavorful.”
“I’m a fan. Good idea,” I complimented. The cheddar was definitely better.
Out of nowhere, Mick suddenly tensed up. “Are you having a happy birthday so far?” he asked expectantly.
“Absolutely. I love everything,” I said. “How did you think of all this anyway?” I asked, waving my hand erratically from the lake, to the beach, to the boat, to the picnic basket.
“I like making people happy. And it’s usually easy for me,” he said—not bragging or anything, just explaining so I’d understand. “It’s small things that make a difference,” he continued. “I guess you could say it’s my personality to pay attention to those things.”
“Well, you’re definitely on the right track,” I said. “Because I don’t think I’ve ever felt so special in my whole life.”
In silence, we nibbled away at the rest of our sandwiches and drove each other crazy with love-struck goo-goo eyes, until Mick broke the spell by saying, “I have something else for you.” He shot me a wide grin. “Something sweet for my sweetheart.”
“Dessert?”
“Uh-huh.” He drew a paper bag adorned with curly pink ribbon from the basket. “Happy birthday, birthday girl.”
“Ooh, pretty!” I gushed, shaking the bag like it was a mystery gift from my secret Santa. “Cookies. Definitely cookies,” I stated emphatically.
Mick shook his head and smirked. “Very good. Were you spying on me?” he asked with mock indignation. “Well, go ahead. Open ’em up. I was going to make you close your eyes, but…”
Instead of carefully peeling the ribbon away, I eagerly tore through the thin paper, almost spilling the tiny heart-shaped cookies overboard. “I knew it,” I gloated. “Two points for me.”
Without pausing to offer any of the delicate treats to Mick, I downed like three or four of them in a row. And as I munched, I caught my sweetie in the most touching stare.
Until then, I never knew the word heartache referred to a real physical feeling. But at the sight of Mick’s unbounded love for me, my heart literally ached like someone had reached into my chest and squeezed it. It ached with happiness, and I began to cry.