Page 17 of Daddy Bear Picnic

He caught the kiss and then blew me one back. “I’m looking forward to it.”

I was so giddy about it, my heart thudded like it was the first time I’d asked someone out on a date. It wasn’t the first time, but it could’ve been with the way my body was reacting. My nerves buzzed like they were on fire from excitement.

It had been a week since I arrived in Pineberry Falls and the town had accepted me at every turn, from the personal acceptances with being a little, to the greater acceptance at being a resident and fixing up my grandparents old summer house.

On the drive home, I stopped by the convenience store and grabbed some fruity popsicles and other groceries. I only had a small fridge-freezer unit at the house while I was getting set up. It was going to be a slow progression of accumulatingthings.

Everyone in town was curious about the progress on the house and they all wanted to impart their advice and help onto me, which I appreciated. I’d never owned a home before. But nobody offered more advice than my folks who were constantly asking for pictures and if there was anything that had been left behind—assuming they were still searching for heirlooms. But there really wasn’t anything there.

Parking up at the side of the house, neighbors on their porches stepped to their fences and waved at me. I waved back and they called out asking how things were going. If that had happened in the city, I might’ve thought I was being hate crimed, or maybe heckled, but here, I found myself stopping to talk to everyone and anyone.

To the left, Mrs. Worthing who was always knitting up a storm and wore what looked like the heaviest material, and in direct sunlight too. She must’ve been immortal. To the right, Mr. and Mrs. Ayles, it was their summer home. There was always someone coming or going from there in their packs.

“What color are you going to paint the fence?” Mrs. Worthing asked. “I’ve got some purple paint stored somewhere if you’d like it.” Her fence was purple, but from the sun, it had turned dark, and peeled.

“I’m still deciding,” I called back to her, “but if you want me to paint your fence, I’m more than happy to.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do something like that, sweetheart.”

“I’m happy to. All I ask is you knit me something for Christmas. I heard it gets pretty cold in the winter.”

She chuckled. “Well, that, I can do. But you’re too busy with making the house pretty, I can’t take you away from that.”

“Well, wen I’m done, I’ll come over and paint your fence. How’s that?”

“Deal!”

Being part of the community was easier than I thought it would’ve been. I’d still yet to attend one of the events for littles as posted on the notice boards in secret coded messages. I wasn’t completely ready for that part, but I was ready to see where things were going to Elijah.

Elijah had been around most of the time for little bits of time to work on the new porch and help me put together flat-pack furniture which he hated and rolled his eyes constantly about. I totally understand that, but when I’d bought it, I didn’t think I was going to have a hot, handsome man who was good with his hands around to help.

The house was beginning to feel like mine, as much as I wanted to restore to how I remembered it from my childhood, I definitely didn’t want it to be a memory trap that would have me waking in the dead of night from wetting myself.

My easel with a fresh canvas stretched over a wooden frame was the necessary addition to making the house mine. In the large bedroom right in front of the window where all the light came in. Ideally, I wanted a sunroom greenhouse outside filled with plants and sunlight where I could paint under the sun and stars.

Now, all that I had to do was prepare for tonight.

I had bottles of apple juice, Twinkies, and a large box of pineberries. They were dessert, alongside what the shopkeeper told me was the best chocolate for melting. I had some plans, and they were bound to make a mess. As for an actual meal, I didn’t want it to be too grown up. So, I shared a part of myself that he’d only met in small doses. I made spaghetti O’s, mini hot dogs, and garlic bread. In hindsight, the garlic bread might’ve been a bad choice considering what I wanted our mouths to be doing with each other.

The kitchen was chaos. The oven was old and all the settings had worn away from time, but it still burned hot, and was usable for the time being.

A knock came at the door as I was pulling the near charred garlic bread out. I wafted a glove at it and rushed around opening the backdoor and window in an effort to ventilate.

“Malcolm,” Elijah’s softly stern voice spoke. He was standing in the doorway, a birdhouse on a stick in hand, and a handful of blue and purple flowers in his other hand. “You should’ve let me cook for me.”

I forced a big smile and pushed the sweat up my forehead with the back of my hand, swooping my hair back. “It’s not my fault. I think there’s a bunch of grime burned into the bottom of the oven.”

“Leave it to me next time, I’ll get it cleaned before you use it again.” He gestured with both hands to show me what he’d made, but I just went in for a hug, pressing my face deep into his chest and inhaling the deep woody scents.

“I can’t make any promises about that, I wanted to make you something,” I said. “You always make me stuff.”

“Cooking is a love language,” he said. “I don’t mind if you don’t want to cook. I’m always more than happy to do it. Although smelling the garlic bread, I’m glad I didn’t bring anything to eat. I bet it tastes amazing.”

I looked up at him, wondering if he was just entertaining me because I’d done it for him. I couldn’t get a read on his thoughts. “If it’s bad, I’ve got lots of snacks.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he said, closing his arms around me, but unable to properly do so because of his gifts.

I giggled a little. “You made that for me?”

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