12. Twelve
Twelve
Agatha
M y phone buzzed on the nightstand, and a groan escaped. I hated mornings. A text from Arnold popped up: "Meet me at the park? I've got a surprise for you." My heart hitched a beat. A surprise?
I tossed the phone onto the bed and scrambled to my feet. Surprises were his thing; he'd been doing them almost every day for two weeks. In the mirror, my reflection stared back, wavy hair a wild mess, eyes wide with curiosity.
I smoothed down my hair, tucking the rebellious strands behind my ears. The voice that men paid to hear was nowhere to be found as I muttered to myself, fussing with my appearance. I grabbed a simple sundress, teal and snug, a color that made my brown eyes pop.
A quick swipe of mascara and a dash of lip gloss, and I was out the door, sneakers slapping against the pavement. Arnold's surprises always managed to coax out the inner child in me, the one who melted like chocolate in the sun at a boy's attention.
The park was a short walk away, the morning light perfect, all golden and warm. Couples lounged on benches, dogs chased frisbees, and the scent of blooming flowers mixed with city air. My pulse raced as I scanned the area, looking for him—my awkward Adonis with the sandy hair and the smile that could trip me up faster than a crack in the sidewalk.
There he was, near the oak tree that stood like a guardian of childhood memories. A picnic blanket was laid out with precision, and there Arnold stood, lanky and lovely, anticipation etched into the creases of his shirt.
"Hey," I breathed out, not quite a whisper but soft enough to betray the thudding in my chest.
"Hi, Angelcakes," he said. His nickname for me made me blush. His hand went to his hair, a nervous tick I'd come to adore.
"Wow, this is..." I gestured to the spread before us, unsure how to finish the sentence without diving headfirst into the cheese dip. I absolutely loved this cheese dip.
"Hope you're hungry." He flashed a grin, and it was infectious, lighting up my own face in response.
"Starving," I admitted, though it wasn't food that had my appetite stirred up. It was him, whatever was about to unfold between us at this moment.
The park breathed life, full of laughter and chatter. As morning plodded on, we sat in easy company, munching and asking each other a hundred different questions.
"Did you do all this?" I swept my hand over the spread. Cheese dip and crackers, Thai noodles, fresh fruit, and, for dessert... chocolate-dipped strawberries. All the hits.
"Guilty." He ducked his head, cheeks pink under the sun. Pride in his eyes, though. Kid at show-and-tell with the coolest toy.
"Wow." My voice cracked. "You remembered everything."
"Of course." He beamed, chest puffed out like a pigeon. That soft blue gaze locked on mine, and it felt right, like slipping into a favorite pair of jeans.
I bit my lip, taking in the picnic that seemed plucked from my very dreams. Sighing and closing my eyes, I savored every taste, every sound. The birds overhead, the feeling of the ground beneath me. I scooched closer, and laughter bubbled up inside me, threatening to spill when my knight in sandy drapes tickled my sides, bringing me back to earth.
He rose to his feet, towering yet somehow still so gentle. In his hands, a bouquet of flowers—lilies, roses, daisies—all wrapped in a ribbon the color of the summer sky. The kind of bouquet you see in old movies, where everything feels like magic and first kisses.
"Got these for you." He held out the flowers, and his hand trembled just a smidge. Adorable.
"Arnold, they're beautiful." I reached out, fingers brushing against his as I took the bouquet. A shiver ran up my arm, the good kind. I buried my nose in the blossoms, their scent fresh and sweet. "Thank you."
"Nothing's too good for you." His shoulders hitched in a shrug, cheeks coloring with a bashful red.
"Stop it, I'm gonna cry or something." I smiled behind the petals, cheeks hot. Flowers clutched to my chest, I glanced at him through my lashes. "What's all this for?"
"Just because. It's our monthaversary, and I thought you deserved something to commemorate this momentous occasion." His grin was lopsided, eyes crinkling at the corners. So darn cute.
"Really, this is perfect." I meant it. And not just the flowers—the park, the food, him. All of it. Arnold had this knack for making ordinary things feel extraordinary. It was one of a million reasons why he mattered, why this whole crazy thing between us felt like it might just work.
I set down the flowers, their colors vibrant against the green of the grass.
"Mmmmm." I moaned as I bit into the noodles. "God, you are a whiz at this."
"Wait until dessert." He winked, and I could feel my cheeks heat up, probably redder than the strawberries now.
"Can't wait." My voice hitched, betraying the casual front I was aiming for.
We sat there, side by side, just enjoying each other as silence allowed us a moment to soak in the moment.
"Angel," he started, then paused, looking at me with those eyes so blue they could rival the sky. "I'm glad you're here. Thank you... for not giving up on me."
"Me too." And I meant it. Every awkward moment, every shared giggle—it was ours. This odd, beautiful connection we had. It was real, and it was happening right now, under the open sky, surrounded by food that tasted like home.
"Ever think about what grapes would say if they could talk?" I popped one in my mouth and watched him think it over.
"Probably begging not to be eaten." He chuckled, eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Mercy, please." I smirked, adopting a high-pitched tone.
"Too late!" He pretended to gobble up an entire bunch, laughter dancing in his eyes.
We were both terrible with jokes. But together? Somehow, it worked.
"Remember that customer who thought The Great Gatsby was a self-help book?" he asked.
"Thought it'd make him great, too," I giggled, recalling the story he told me once.
"Imagine his surprise."
"Surprise is underrated." I munched on another grape, savoring how it popped in my mouth, the juices running down my chin in a drippy mess.
"Speaking of which..." His voice trailed off as he rummaged through his backpack.
"Another secret?" My heart skipped, curious.
"Something like that." He pulled out a folded piece of paper, face flushed.
"Hit me with your best shot." I leaned forward, eager and a bit nervous.
"Right." He unfolded the paper, hands trembling just a touch. "Here goes..."
He cleared his throat, and I held my breath. Something deep, something raw, flickered across his face.
"Angel of the airwaves, voice warm as summer sun," Arnold started, voice earnest. "Got me tuned in, frequency of fun."
"Frequency of fun?" I raised an eyebrow but couldn't help smiling.
"Your laugh," he continued, "a melody, a song of its own. In this lonely world, it makes me feel less alone."
"Arnold..." I whispered, chest tight. What was this feeling? Happiness? Pride?
"More than a voice, a heart, a soul, a fire." His words stumbled but didn't fall. "With you, Agatha, life's never dire."
"Never dire, huh?" I teased, warmth spreading through me.
"Never." He looked up, seeking my reaction.
"Keep going." I nudged him gently, lost in his gaze.
"Your presence, a present, no ribbons or bows needed." He paused and swallowed hard. "In your company, my loneliness receded."
Arnold's eyes met mine, a flicker of courage dancing in their depths. "Your kisses," he began, the paper trembling in his grasp, "they're like slurps of eternity, sweet and endless."
"Slurps?" I choked back a laugh, my heart hammering with affection for this man who tried so hard. The park spun slightly as warmth blossomed in my cheeks.
"Your embrace," he continued, oblivious to the awkward phrasing, "a chocolate starfish, unique and treasured."
"Chocolate starfish?" My giggle slipped out; I couldn't hold it back. I bit my lip, trying to compose myself, but the image was too vivid, too bizarre.
"Every moment with you, a thingy of beauty." Arnold's voice wavered, earnest despite the choice of words. "This time with you has been like floating in a channel of love, a sense of peace in this quivering world."
"Thingy?" I pressed my hand to my mouth, laughter bubbling up, mixing with an odd sense of endearment. He was trying, god, he was trying.
His sandy hair caught the sunlight as he peered at me, questioning, hopeful. A blush crept from his neck to his cheeks, but he powered on, fueled by feelings that couldn't be quenched by mere mortification.
"Agatha, you...," he finished, a soft sincerity threading through his words, "are home."
"Oh, my sweet gangly prince." My throat tightened, the giggles subsiding. This man, with his cringey phrases and tender heart, he saw me. Not just Angel, the sultry voice, but Agatha, raw and real.
I reached across the picnic blanket, our fingers brushing. The corner of his mouth quirked up, a silent plea for reassurance. He was trying so damn hard, and boy was it working. It took everything in me not to rip off his clothes and straddle that sexy little fun stick and take it for a spin.
"Arnold, that was... unique." I squeezed his hand. "You always keep things interesting."
His shoulders relaxed, the tension melting away. He grinned, that lanky frame of his sinking further into the grass as if my words were a balm to his nervous energy.
"Unique's one way to put it," he said. His blue eyes twinkled, reflecting the clear sky above.
"Definitely memorable." I winked, nudging his knee with mine.
"Good memorable or bad?"
"Good, definitely good." My laughter died down, but the warmth in my chest didn't. It spread, filling every awkward silence with something like fondness.
He took a deep breath, his gaze locked on mine. "I'm glad," he murmured.
The poem was over, his declaration hanging in the air like an unfinished melody. I leaned forward, closing the space between us. His breath hitched, a quiet gasp escaping him.
My lips met his in a soft collision, tentative at first, then firm. I poured every ounce of gratitude into that kiss, thanking him for his earnest, adorable effort. For seeing me, the real me, beyond the sultry voice and the confident facade.
He kissed back, a gentle pressure that spoke volumes. There was no need for words, not when every touch whispered louder than any verse could.
We parted, breathless. His smile mirrored my own—relieved, happy, and a little bit dazed.
"Thanks, Angelcakes," he smiled and ducked his head.
"Thank you, Arnie. For all of this." I gestured around the picnic spot, still feeling the tingle from the kiss.
"Anytime." He promised, reaching for my hand again, his touch grounding me, making this moment real.
In a world of baby girls, I'd finally found my yummy cummie.