Page 44 of The Cannon
“Everybody thinks so. Since you sent me flowers, my office staff has been obsessing.”
“What? You’re exaggerating.” I laugh it off and smooth the blanket over the foam.
“No I’m not. You’re the screensaver on my nurses’ computer.”
“Come up here.”
I walk to the edge of the tailgate and offer my hands. She feels like a feather as she plants a foot and I lift her up. Without letting go, I take her in an embrace.
“This is where we kiss,” I order.
There’s no resistance or hesitation. Her body arches and her lips touch mine. Images of Bristol naked flood my mind. Not certain if those cutoffs will stay on much longer. As we part, a large butterfly flits around our heads and lands on her.
“Don’t move,” I say. “It’s on your right shoulder. Wow, beautiful.”
She remains perfectly still but whispers a request. “Can you take a picture?”
I carefully lift my cell from my pocket and tap the camera icon. Slowly, so I don’t spook the butterfly, I raise my hand and aim. The orange and black wings flutter.
Click.
And it’s gone, off to find another perfect flower to rest upon. He’s going to have trouble finding one as beautiful.
“That was incredible. Let me see,” she says coming to my side.
I bring the picture up and it’s a beauty. Oh and yeah, there’s also a butterfly.
“Let’s get set up.”
“What can I do?”
“There’s pillows in the duffel and a few bottles of liquor. You can pour us a drink while I get to the rest of this. I’m going to have the scotch. There’s ice in the cooler.”
She gets to her job while I set up the chairs and place the new pillows next to each other on the blanket. I pull the vase and flowers from the tote. Pouring a little water from the Arrowhead bottle to keep them alive, the vase is set in the corner of the flatbed. Right next to where her head will lay.
“Flowers? You thought to bring flowers?”
“For my girl.”
“I’m your girl?” She says it shyly.
“Yep. I’m staking a claim.”
Her only response is a smile contained by lips pressed tight. That’s good enough for me.
“Oh, the mason jars are in the tote. I’ll get ‘em. Take a seat.”
The sun is low now and the sky’s changing color, blue to a deep purple with streaks of orange. I grab the mason jars and she pours our drinks.
“I’d like to make the toast,” she says raising her drink.
I take my seat and our free hands find each other and entwine.
“Here’s to whatever brought you into my life. Fate or happenstance, it feels so right.”
“It’s not chance. That I know.”
We take a sip, but our eyes don’t look away. An overwhelming sense of destiny washes over me.
