7. Freya
Freya
S prawled out on a red-checkered picnic blanket, Wyatt rolls over dramatically and grabs my arm. “My stomach is going to explode. I’m having a Red Bird baby. Can you please call for help?”
I grin as a few of our picnic-blanket neighbors sitting around us shush Wyatt for speaking up so loudly.
He catches my eye, and we both throw our hands to our mouths, stopping ourselves from laughing out loud and making the other folks here irritated.
The past few days have kept us both busy, but we managed to find time to make a date for Lake Lorelei’s Movie Night in the Park.
After a few hours together, my sides already hurt from laughing.
The makeshift screen in front of us flashes with special effects from a scene in the movie we’re watching.
Like Wyatt noted, it’s no Dirty Dancing, but it’ll do.
Thank goodness Maisey had enough forethought to hook me up with a picnic basket full of goodies for dinner as well.
If the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, I was on the winning side of things with Wyatt tonight.
“Pass me another slice of pie, would ya? ”
I lean on my arm and push myself up so I’m sitting with legs crossed beside Wyatt, who is now holding out his hand in wait.
We’ve both been occupied with our responsibilities; he’s been at the fire station non-stop getting ready for the parade, giving tourists tours of the station, and helping the team with safety measures around the fireworks display.
I think he even said he’d been wrangled into an extra shift, while I’d been held captive at Red Bird by Maisey, assisting her with the picnic baskets she made for movie night as well as pre-ordered July Fourth meals for tomorrow night’s fireworks extravaganza.
The woman gets up before five in the morning every day and goes to bed by ten every night—and I still can’t understand how she gets it all done.
I want to say I’ve been so busy I’ve not even had a chance to think about Wyatt, but the reality is that he’s all that’s been on my mind. That, and where I’m going to live in a few months’ time.
During my shift today, when I was restocking the sugar caddies, Maisey asked me again if I had thought more about moving home.
I didn’t want to get her hopes up, but I did tell her that I was still considering it because it’s a strong possibility.
When she asked if I would be coming back for me or Wyatt, I stopped what I was doing to stare at her, a little miffed.
“Do you think I would only move back here because of a guy?” I shoved a sugar packet in its place, a little too vigorously because the packet ripped open and sprayed sugar crystals all over the counter. “I’m capable of making a decision that’s based on what I want to do, you know.”
Maisey laughed at me. Not with me, because I wasn’t laughing, but at me. She sat down at the counter in front of where I stood and took the caddy out of my hands.
“I’m not asking if you would be moving back for Wyatt, I’m simply asking if you are. But I want you to know that if Wyatt is included in your reasons why, I think that’s okay. More than okay, really.”
I leveled my gaze at her. “Well, then, it’s a strong yes that I’m coming back.
As for where Wyatt fits and if he fits, I have no clue.
” I closed my eyes and rubbed my chin, which looked good from the makeup I had on it but still hurt.
“I kinda realized over the last few days that I may really feel something for him, but I’m not sure because he’s also really hot and a fireman, so maybe I’m just man-deprived after all of my failed relationships? ”
Ooof. That came out all at once.
Maisey tilted her head to one side and swallowed a laugh.
She reached out and grabbed my hand, shaking it vigorously.
“Congratulations for finally realizing what you have right in front of you. One thing I can say in my experience is that when you find someone who hits you here”—she tapped her heart with the open palm—”you do what you can to not let them go. So, what’s the plan with Wyatt?”
My stomach filled with butterflies. “The plan is…well—I guess we might…”
“Oh boy.” Maisey rolled her eyes. “You’re not good at this, are you?”
I shook my head from side to side as I continued to rub my temples. “Not really. But I’m also still injured from the raft race so that could be affecting me.”
“Excuses.” Maisey wagged a finger in my direction. “Food is the ultimate way to any man’s heart, so let’s start there. You going to movie night?”
“I am. With Wyatt.” I nodded as I resumed restocking the caddies. “We’re meeting at the park.”
“Well, text him and let him know you’ll have dinner sorted out.
” She stood up on her tiptoes and peered beyond me into the kitchen.
“We’ve got plenty back there for me to whip up some gourmet sandwiches and a few side dishes, and of course a few slices of pie.
I think the Book Club forgot to pick up their order, so it’s yours. ”
“I’ll take it. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”
“My pies are not trash, so bite your tongue.”
I had watched Maisey as she hopped up and proceeded to organize a basket, filling it to the brim with anything and everything we needed. Now, I’m sitting here in the middle of the park on a blanket with Wyatt, the basket almost empty except for a few slices of Book Club pie that’s left over.
I reach into the basket and grab a slice of Poe’s Pecan Pie (guess what author they’re reading this month?) for myself. I’ve already had two pieces, but who’s counting?
“Another slice, Freya?”
Wyatt’s counting, that’s who. “I don’t need your judgement, especially after you’ve swallowed two pieces already yourself.” I take my fork and dig into the slice, putting it all in my mouth and chewing it slowly. “Oh man. Heaven!”
I look down and find Wyatt gazing up at me with that lopsided grin of his. My heart skips an actual beat. How have I never noticed how sexy that smile is? I take a chunk out of the pie with my fork and hold it out to him. “Want a bite?”
His eyes meet mine as he stretches his neck up toward me, and I lower the fork so he can get a taste.
As I lean over, I feel a shock of electric current run through my body when he takes that bite—because the whole time he never stops looking straight into my eyes.
It’s like he’s reaching into my soul and I am here for it.
“Good?” Maisey’s food seems to be doing the trick. Wyatt sits up and scoots closer to me on the blanket.
“It’s the best pie I’ve ever tasted.” He licks his lips before grinning my way. “And I’ve had some good pies over the years.”
I start to retort, but the whipped cream on his top lip is distracting me. I point to his face. “You’ve got something…there.”
His hand flies up to his mouth. “Where. Here?” He rubs just to the left of the whipped cream.
“No, I’ll get it.” I grab a napkin. Not thinking, I raise it to his lips and gently wipe it away. I feel him staring at me, and the warmth from his breath hits my cheek, causing my stomach to do somersaults yet again.
I finish my mission and settle into daydreaming about those lips. I sit back and look around the park, checking out the crowd and seeing many familiar faces. And my stomach sinks.
There, a few blankets over from us, is Dylan.
Good old Dylan. Oh goody, she’s waving. I raise a hand and wave back as she points to Wyatt, signaling she wants me to get his attention.
So I do—I hit him in the ribs with the pointy tip of my elbow.
It’s a little too enthusiastic judging from the cry that escapes his lips.
“What was that for?” he hisses.
“Whoops, sorry.” I play innocent. “Dyls wanted me to get your attention.”
He looks at Dylan and waves but turns back to me in a flash. “You know, there’s nothing going on there, Freya. Really. We did go on a few dates when she first came to town, actually two in total, but she’s solidly in the friend zone.”
Why is he telling me this? Do I reek of jealousy all of a sudden? I mean, I should because as much as I hate to admit it, I am feeling a touch of petty jealousy about this, and it irritates me because I feel like I have no right.
“I’m not worried about her.” Okay, so I fibbed. I look back at Wyatt, who knows me better than that. He wags a finger at me, making me laugh. I swat him. “Be good. The movie’s almost over.”
He turns his attention back to the movie, but I’m still plotting.
If Dylan is in the friend zone—yay—then one of us needs to make a move here.
The one thing I keep coming back to over the last few days when I think of Wyatt, and why I’m feeling this way now, is that I’m the one who put us here—in the penalty box if you will.
I friend-zoned us all those years ago, so it’s only fitting it should be me to get us out, right?
If the roles were reversed and the shoe was on the other foot, I’d be hesitant to try anything.
So, I lean over and do what any mature woman my age would do.
I start a tickle fight. They always begin innocently enough.
A poke here, a prod there, someone runs their fingers along your ribcage or gets ahold of your knee and then it’s on.
I make it as far as getting my fingers next to his ribcage before he figures out what I’m doing.
Let me tell you…never try to trick a man who’s been training for over a year to be a fireman, cause they’ll win.
As my fingertips dance to their intended location, Wyatt’s hand, which is lying in wait, snatches mine and he manages to flip me over so I’m on my back with him still beside me, but pinning me down with one arm.
I can’t believe one arm is that strong, so I sneak in a quick feel and cup his bicep for good measure, and oh, yes, he’s that strong.
The curve of his bicep in my hands is sculpted perfection indeed.