Page 25 of The Family Man

She steps back. “I’m heavy, Zac. Forget it, I can walk.”

“Hold the basket, honey.” I give the basket to her and sweep her up in my arms. She puts her arm around my neck and looks at me with wonder.

* * *

SAGE

When he picks me up, I am expecting him to groan, or make the “umph” sound. Something to signify that I am heavy. Nothing, he picks me up in one smooth motion. No sound, no stumbling, nothing! Part of me wants to weep, the other part wants to sink my nose into his neck. He is not wearing any cologne, but pheromones must be real. His natural scent is cruelly delicious.

He smells clean, citrusy with a hint of freshly washed linen. I swallow, realizing that he is not even breaking a sweat with me in his arms.

We come to a clearing and my jaw drops.

Mason jars filled with string lights dance as a soft breeze passes through. In front of us is a huge homemade movie screen and people are all sitting huddled in designated areas.

The far left has three booths covered in red and white stripes, with the words snack bar over it.

There was a chalk board with the words. “Under the stars. Now Showing: Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

“This is us here,” he says as he puts me down gently.

“This is beautiful, Zac.” It really was. Our spot has layered outdoor rugs, two leather poofs, a leather trunk and big comfy throw pillows to sit and lean on.

I take off my shoes and with Zac’s help I arrange myself on the ground. I feel like I’m sitting on a cloud. This date is a perfect idea. Zac sits next to me and opens the basket.

“I made Muffulettas,” he says. “We have brie and crackers, some chocolate covered almonds and strawberries. A bottle of homemade Sangria, some vegan Mediterranean wraps and Snickers.” He searches through the basket, and his eyebrows frown.

“What did you forget the kitchen sink?” I giggle.

“No, I had a bowl of fruit. I guess I forgot it. Are you allergic to anything?” He looks up.

“Zac, it’s okay. This is so cool. I love it. Thank you.” I squeeze his knee.

He gives me a sandwich and he pours out a ruby red sangria in a mason jar.

“Tell me about yourself, Zac,” I ask as I bite into the sandwich and flavor explodes in my mouth. This is the best sandwich, I know that he is talking, but I close my eyes and savor the taste. The combination of salty meat, the rich flavor of the olive salad with a hint of smoky cheese all on a sesame seed bread. This must be what heaven tastes like.

“This is the best muffuletta I’ve ever had.” I wipe my mouth with a napkin.

“Thank you I made everything,” he replies causally like his cooking was not a big thing.

“You made everything? Even the bread?” I point to the bread in my hand with amazement.

“Even the bread,” he says like it was nothing.

“What are you, like a Bobby Flay Iron Chef kind of man?” I ask.

He cooks, he freaking cooks. I am liking him more and more.

“Bobby Flay has nothing on me. Here, try the Sangria.” He extends a mason jar to me.

I can’t help it. I close my eyes and moan. The combination of red wine and whatever alchemy he performed on this drink is magic.

I open my eyes and he is staring right at me. “Sorry, do I have mayo on my face?” I smile behind my hand, remembering that my mouth is full.

He shakes his head and bites his bottom lip. “No, it’s nothing.”

I swallow my food quickly and put my sandwich down. “Okay, so are you a chef?”

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