“It’s a special recipe just for you. I named this one Tomato-Tomahto Saloomi-Salami.”
I burst out in laughter. “Perfect.” Taking another bite, I said, “What did you put in it? It’s delicious.”
“It’s tomato, salami, fresh basil, mozzarella on ciabatta with salt, pepper, and a drizzle of chili pepper-infused olive oil.”
My mouth was full as I spoke. “Holy crap. This is so good, Landon.”
“You must be thirsty.”
I laughed. “If I say yes, will I be opening up another item?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, I am.”
“Go ahead, then.”
I immediately recognized the shape of number four before I even opened it. “You sent me a mini bottle of wine.”
“I didn’t trust you not to finish a big bottle yourself,” he joked. “You would’ve been swearing at me again by the end of this.”
“You might be right.” I twisted the top off and took a sip of the pinot grigio. “Delicious.”
He seemed to be chewing.
“Are you eating, too?” I asked.
“Of course. What kind of a date would it be if I weren’t? I’m eating the same exact sandwich as you. Drinking the same wine, too. Because if we were together, we’d be sharing a large bottle.”
I loved that he was taking this so seriously.
Continuing to play along, I asked, “Where would we be eating these sandwiches?”
“Right now, we’re in Venice parked off of Abbott Kinney Boulevard sitting on a bench outside of the truck. Sorry, I missed that step. Should’ve pointed that out.”
“You’re doing great. This is so nice. Thank you.”
Santeria by Sublime started to play as he said, “I just hooked my iPod up to the speaker so we can listen to some music while we eat.”
That song was perfect for the vibe I was imagining in my head.
It was amazing how much it felt like I was actually there with him. I guess a good imagination can transport you anywhere you want to be.
We ate in silence for a while, listening to his music, some of which was obscure. He played songs like Satellite and One Man Wrecking Machine by a band called Guster. When Otherside by the Red Hot Chili Peppers came on, two thoughts came to mind. One, I loved his taste in music. Two, many of his song choices had to do with addiction, and I wondered if that had something to do with his birth mother. I wanted to ask him but was afraid to ruin the moment, so opted not to.
At one point, a country song came on.
“What’s this?” I asked. “You don’t strike me as a country kind of guy.”
“Normally, I’m not, but I heard this the other day, and it reminded me of you.”
“Why is that?”
“You’ll see.”
I listened to the words for a while and figured it out. “Oh, very funny.”
“It’s called This Ain’t No Drunk Dial by A Thousand Horses.”
“Nice.” I giggled.
At least an hour passed while we chatted and listened to his tunes.
“The sun is starting to set. I don’t want to waste it here. Let’s go to the beach by my place,” he said.
My smile grew bigger. “Okay.”
“Open up number five.”
I eagerly removed the wrapping of the fifth present, which turned out to be a machine that played ocean sounds.
“This is perfect.”
“Unplug your sunlamp and replace it with that. It’s getting dark now anyway.”
Happily following his orders, I smiled. “Okay.”
We sat in silence, listening to the sounds of my new ocean machine.
“Where are you right now in actuality?” I asked.
“I’ve been at the beach by my place the entire time,” he admitted. I could hear his lighter, then the sound of his blowing out smoke before he said, “Give me something, Rana. Anything. Tell me what you’re wearing.”
I told the truth. “I’m wearing a T-shirt that says Jesus Loves This Hot Mess, and I’m…not wearing any pants.”
“You’re just in your underwear?”
“Yes.”
His breath hitched. “What about your hair?”
“It’s damp from the shower. I took one right before you called.”
“It’s down to your ass, right?”
“Yes. It’s longer than it’s ever been.”
“Beautiful,” he whispered. “What does it smell like?”
Sniffing it, I pondered how to describe the scent. “Coconuts and mint.”
“Mmm,” he groaned. “I’m trying to imagine that. I’d give anything to smell it right now.”
“What are you wearing?” I asked.
“A black hoodie and black cargo shorts.”