Page 31 of My Fearless Fake Fling

Eight kids popped out of that tiny thing? Mind pretty much blown.

Only ten more minutes passed until we pulled into Len’s parking spot in front of his condo. He climbed out and came around my side to help with the pizza while I slid down and started for the unit door.

“It’s a beautiful night. Instead of going right in, you maybe want to take the pizza around back. There’s a pond and a nice place to sit.”

An impromptu picnic? I loved picnics. You could tell a lot about a man based on if he suggested a picnic or not. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Alright… wait here. I’ll go grab us some drinks.”

He left the pizza box sitting on the hood of the truck and jogged up to his place. The evening felt so warm still, though not stifling. The sun started to set so the land blended in with itself, all that golden-burnt orange. No insects sang to each other yet, though the air held a low hum of electricity. Static charged. I felt it as much as I heard it. We were in for one heck of a storm probably by the middle of the night, but definitely into tomorrow. Best take advantage of the outdoors before the rain came.

The hard click of a door tore my attention from the sky. I turned my head to see Len heading for me, carrying an old blanket. I want to say it had the Star Wars logo printed on the front, but the way the folds fell over his arm, I couldn’t be a hundred percent certain. Dangling from that same hand, a grocery store bag. The outline of cans pushed against the thin plastic, letting me know that was where he kept the drinks he’d gone in for.

I carried the bag with the breadsticks and antipasto salad. He picked up the pizza boxes, balancing them on the blanket with the edge of cardboard pushed right up against his chest.

“This way,” he said as he began walking toward the side of the building. His had upstairs and downstairs units. Each unit had direct outside access, like walking up to a house. No hallways like in my apartment building.

We rounded the brick-and-vinyl-sided exterior and maybe fifty feet away, the pond spread out for our enjoyment. None of the other residents had yet decided to take advantage of the night and the view. And what a view. With little to no breeze, the surface of the pond appeared as smooth as a sheet of glass.

The closer we walked, the stronger the scent of pond water and humidity hit us, combining pleasantly with that of the pizza in Len’s arms. My mouth watered.

We found a perfect spot under a late-blooming magnolia tree. Another layer of beauty and fragrance to set the scene. It rested in that perfect zone—close enough, but not too close, to the lake for us to enjoy all that surrounded us.

“You want to hold the boxes a sec?” he asked, handing them over before I answered. So rhetorical.

Careful to grip them by the edges, so as not to burn my hands, I held on while Len set the drink bag on the ground, unfolded the blanket—Star Wars, just as I’d thought—and spread it over the supple grass. Before he sat, he took the pizza back and waited for me to sit.

Once situated, he pulled a couple cans of a sparkling “hard water” beverage for each of us out from the first bag. Then he pulled the antipasto salad, breadsticks—and Rita had even packed two thick paper plates and plastic forks for us, which he pulled out from the second bag, handing one set off to me.

Carb city—no, carb universe. We transported to a delectable carb-filled universe and I loved every second of my visit. It was no secret I liked to keep the veg-to-carb ratio of my meals higher with the veg. But we’d had such a wonderful day, and I felt like I could eat my own foot with my hunger reaching DEFCON two after exerting so much energy today. Plus, I felt no urge to hide my bread-loving persona under some false pretense of trying to impress him. If he didn’t like it, he could stuff it. I mean, he was “dumping” me at the end of the month. So what did it matter?

I plucked two buttery, oregano-and parmesan-crusted breadsticks from the smaller box, then used my fork to pile antipasto salad onto my plate. Lastly, I went for the Margherita. The cheese oozed and dripped, along with oil and sauce, and I never wanted to leave this carb universe.

Before doing anything else, I bit off a large chunk of the triangle point and honest-to-goodness moaned.

The slices had cooled off enough on the drive so as to not scald my mouth. After chewing sufficiently and swallowing, I looked up from my plate to thank Len and noticed him not eating. He sat with an empty plate watching me devour my food.

A sudden bout of self-consciousness hit. “Not hungry?” I asked, setting my plate down on my lap.

Not answering right away, he leaned forward and used his finger to swipe across my cheek, next to my mouth. “Got some sauce on you,” he said, then stuck the finger in his mouth and sucked it clean.

I reached back into the bag Rita sent with us to pluck a small pile of napkins out, using one to wipe my face.

“Are you going to eat now?” I asked uncomfortably.

“Oh, I could definitely eat,” he answered. But I got the distinct feeling he wasn’t talking about pizza or salad.

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