Chapter 14 The Day I Laughed Again #2
"I said I could do it." He stops a few feet away, arms spread wide. "Do I get a hug?"
"Absolutely not." I hold his clean shirt away from him. "You're disgusting."
"I'm victorious." He looks down at himself, assessing the damage. "There's a washing station near the food stalls. Give me ten minutes."
He retrieves his shoes and goes toward the washing station. One of the handlers sets the hamper on the bench beside me. I sit with Rafael's shirt across my lap, still laughing whenever I picture his expression just before he hit the mud.
The hamper has jars of marmalade and honey, bread, and a paper-wrapped cake. A blue ribbon is tied to its handle. I turn it around to read the name of the contest, then put it back exactly as it was. He is never going to be allowed to forget this.
By the time Rafael returns, he's mostly clean. His hair is damp and pushed back from his face. He has rinsed the worst of the mud from his trousers and wrung out the cuffs; his feet are back in his shoes, and he carries his balled socks in one hand.
"Better?" He stops beyond splashing distance, holding out his free hand for inspection.
"You missed some." I point to a streak of mud behind his ear. "Here."
He scrubs at the wrong side. I dampen a corner of my handkerchief with water from my bottle and catch the streak myself, steadying his jaw with my other hand. His skin is warm beneath my fingers.
He holds still, letting me finish. I fold the muddy corner inward before he can see how badly I want to leave my hand where it is.
"Picnic." I stand up, thrusting his shirt at him. "You mentioned a picnic."
"Right." He tucks the balled socks into his trouser pocket, then pulls on the shirt and buttons it. "I left the basket in the car. There's a spot on the hill overlooking the orchards, if you're up for a short walk."
"Lead the way." I lift the hamper by its handle, but he takes it from me while I gather my bag.
At his car, he puts the heavy prize hamper in the boot and adds its cake and a small jar of marmalade to the picnic basket he packed. He retrieves a blanket and a small cool bag, and we make our way up a gentle slope to a grassy clearing that looks out over rows of citrus trees.
The fair is visible below us, a colorful sprawl of tents and people, but up here it's quiet and peaceful.
With the fair's music drifting up the hill, Rafael spreads the blanket and starts unpacking the food. I sit down and watch him work, letting him put the food where he wants it instead of automatically taking over. The cool bag holds a covered dish and two bottles of water.
"You packed all this before I said yes?" I move my feet aside to make room for the plates.
"I hoped you'd come." He offers me a plate and opens the covered dish of chicken and roasted peppers. "I wanted to have something nice ready if you did."
"The pig chase wasn't part of the plan?" I glance at the damp cuffs he's keeping carefully off the blanket.
"That was a bonus." He grins, settling onto the blanket across from me. "I saw the sign when I arrived and thought it looked easy."
"You were ridiculous." I try a piece of pepper, sweet and smoky beneath its olive-oil dressing. "Completely, absolutely ridiculous."
"You laughed." He pauses with his plate balanced on one knee, looking at me instead of the view. "I haven't heard you laugh like that in a long time."
I look away, suddenly uncomfortable. He's right. I haven't laughed like that in months. Maybe longer. And the fact that he noticed, that he cared enough to notice, makes something ache in my chest.
"The food is good." I change the subject, reaching for a slice of bread. "Did you make all this yourself?"
"I roasted the peppers and cooked the chicken this morning." He opens the water bottles and passes one to me. "The baker gets the credit for the bread. And I think I earned the cake."
He has brought the dark-crusted bread I usually choose, with enough dressing on the peppers to dip it in. There are oranges in the basket too. I take one out and set it beside my plate for later.
"Thank you." The words feel inadequate, but I don't know what else to say. "This is... this is really nice."
"I wanted it to be." He takes a drink and rests the open bottle against the basket. "I wanted to spend an afternoon with you without looking at the time. I thought we could eat here if you liked it."
I tear another piece of bread and reach for the peppers. I can eat the lunch he made me without deciding what it proves. For now, I would like more of it.
"Let's try the marmalade." I open the jar from the prize hamper and spread some on a piece of bread. "Did you read the label? I think the maker had a stall near the preserves."
"I chose it because I knew you'd want to try it." Rafael leans forward to read the label. "Blood orange. What else do you think is in it?"
I lift the jar and breathe in, letting the scent unfold. "Blood orange, obviously. But there's something else underneath. Vanilla, maybe? No, that's not quite right. Something warmer."
"You're frowning." He's watching my face with genuine interest. "Is that good or bad?"
"It's thinking." I take another sniff. "Cardamom. Just a little. Whoever made this knows what she's doing."
"You sound impressed." He leans forward, trying to read the ingredients while I hold the jar turned away from him.
"I am impressed." I set the jar down. "Most people overdo the spices in citrus preserves. This is restrained. It lets the orange do the work."
Rafael picks up the jar and smells it himself, his brow furrowing in concentration. "I can smell the orange. And something that might be the cardamom, now that you've said it. But I never would have identified it on my own."
"That's because you have a normal nose." I steal a piece of the chicken from his plate. "Mine is freakishly overdeveloped."
"Your nose is correct." He turns the label toward me. "Cardamom. I should know better than to question it."
I take the piece of chicken I stole from his plate and offer him a bite before eating the rest. It is the sort of thing I used to do without thinking. He accepts it without making a speech about what it means.
"Game." I point at the fair below us, where a vendor is grilling something that sends smoke curling into the evening air. "What do you smell from here?"
Rafael closes his eyes and inhales. "Meat. Some kind of herb, rosemary maybe. And underneath that, the citrus from the orchards. It's everywhere today."
"Not bad." I lean back on my hands. "The herb is actually thyme, but rosemary was a reasonable guess. They smell similar when they're cooking."
"Was that a compliment?" He opens his eyes. "I'd like it noted. In writing, if possible."
"You guessed one herb." I push his plate a little nearer the covered dish. "Eat your lunch before you start claiming another prize."
"I'm on a winning streak." He reaches for the orange beside my plate and starts peeling it. "You might want to stop setting me challenges."
I'm laughing again. How does he keep doing that? How does he keep making me laugh when I spent months barely able to smile in his presence?
"The pig didn't seem particularly impressed with your winning streak." I gesture toward the enclosure, still visible at the edge of the fairground. "It looked like it was trying to escape your refined presence."