Ben swooped in just as we were dishing up plates last evening. Oh, there you are. Finally. He's been holed up in his studio for days.
Leave two of them out, he said and grabbed my hand, pulling me out of the kitchen and up the stairs to our room. When we get there he tells me to find a comfortable dress that won't be too warm, for being outside.
I grab a pretty eyelet sundress and matching shoes. He looks at the shoes when I come back from dressing and says Not those. Something comfortable.
I exchange the pumps for my keds and he says Perfect. He's changed into a tissue-weight henley shirt and his utilikilt so I know I've hit the mark.
Back downstairs and he grabs his keys, everyone says Have fun! and we are off.
Only I don't know where.
He turns out of our neighborhood and I'm like Yay! Whistler for dinner! But he just says Nope and grins, turning abruptly, heading down a fire road then turns again and then after fifteen minutes of what seems like twisting and turning and I can no longer tell where I am he drives through a heavy stand of trees and we come out in front of a glorious lake. A mountain lake that I haven't seen on the map and I figured everything on this side was just grizzly and black bear county and I should stay the heck away. But there are no bears that I can see, only this perfectly still lake.
And on the beach I see a pretty table covered with a yellow tablecloth and fresh wildflowers in a big tin pitcher. The path there and all around the table someone has layered woven blankets.
Ben smiles at me and says he wanted to try a new restaurant, and that I can leave my shoes in the truck. We get out of the truck (so much cooler up here) and he unloads a wicker picnic basket from the bed and I ask him what the restaurant is called so I can tell all our friends and he thinks for a minute and he says Chez Ben. But it's only open one night of the year.
I see. Well they'll be disappointed then.
I'm not, he says.
Me neither. I tell him back.
We settle at the table and he goes about unpacking. I don't have to pinch myself because when I see the food I know it's Ben and it's real. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and cans of iced tea.
It was the best picnic I've ever had.
We took our drinks down to sit on a log after we finished our sandwiches, sticking our bare feet in the cool water. Pond skaters were all over the place, as were mosquitoes. We got eaten alive. I offered that maybe we should head back because we both had so many bug bites and also it was dusk now and bears are more active and I hear they love peanut butter but Ben said he wanted five more minutes and then we'll go. He squeezed my hand and looked at his watch. Then he did it again.
Then again.
I'm thinking...what the heck is he waiting for?
Then he looked at it once more, pulled me in tight against him and kissed me like he meant it. Long, heavy and hot. The split-second his lips touched mine fireworks went off on the other side of the lake. Actual fireworks.
I laughed mid-kiss and got another kiss because I messed up his efforts on the first one with my laughing. Half because he isn't usually given to this level of romance and half because deeply kissing someone after you've eaten a peanut butter and jam sandwich is uncharacteristically...awkward.
When we finally stopped kissing each other the fireworks ended and he nodded quizzically and asked me if I saw anything. He got to his feet, pulling me up too and said he swore he saw fireworks during that kiss.
Me too!
This proves it, Bridge. We are meant to be.
I think kissing after PB&J proves that. You have to really love someone to make that level of sacrifice.
Yeah, I learned something else tonight too.
What is that?
Kilts and mosquitoes really don't mix.
