The Player and the Pixie(27)

I grabbed the champagne from her. “Give me that. That’s my job.”

She lifted an eyebrow at me. “Why is that your job? I’m quite good at opening champagne bottles. I used to wait tables at a posh restaurant.”

“It’s my job because I’m rubbish at everything else.”

This statement earned me a smile. “Okay, fine then. I’ll spread the blanket and set the food out. Let me know if you need help popping it open or if you’d like a lesson in picnicking from a professional.”

I untwisted the wire holding the cork in place. “You’re a picnicking professional?”

“Yes. I’m quite accomplished at eating outdoors.”

“Really?” I was curious.

“In New York, in the spring, everyone picnics in Central Park. It’s gorgeous and green and patchworks of blankets cover the ground. I love going just to people watch, but I also feel like food tastes better outside.” Lucy talked as she worked, her movements relaxed and unhurried. I stepped away from the blanket she’d just spread and watched her, fascinated by her easy chatter.

“Do you go by yourself?” I didn’t know what compelled me to ask the question, but I suddenly needed to know.

“Sometimes.” She shrugged, then laughed lightly. “Actually, most of the time. But I don’t mind.”

Relief. I was relieved. But I said nothing, happy to have her continue speaking of her picnics, finding I was greedy for the details.

“And there’s every kind of food you could want in the city. I have a special picnicking blanket, a thrift store find, a quilt of metallic-colored fabric—silver, gold, and copper. Basically, it’s outrageous, but I love it. I love spreading it on the ground and sitting on it, like it’s a throne and I’m the queen, a five-by-five porthole to an alternate dimension.”

Finished setting out the cups, plates, and napkins, Lucy glanced up at me. Her eyes were bright and undesigning, as was her smile. She reached out to me with one hand.

I stared at her dumbly, uncertain what to do.

Her smile slipped as she lifted her eyebrows. “Sean?”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to sit?”

I glanced at her, then the blanket, then the food, then back to her. “Yes. Of course.”

I sat.

“Sean?”

“Yes?” I looked to her again.

“Do you want me to finish up with the champagne?”

I examined the bottle in my hands, discovered it was still corked. “Ah, no. I can finish.”

“Okay.” She gave me a smile, it looked a bit nervous.

I gave her a smile, feeling a bit nervous.

I filled the glasses to the brim, offered one to her first, then gulped mine. We sat in a silence that was both tense and sacred while I had the distinct impression of being lost.

Born out of a desire to break the thickening tension, I announced, “I’ve brought strawberries.”

“Oh,” she said, the soft exclamation tinged with regret.

“What?”

“I’m allergic to strawberries,” Lucy confessed, her expression apologetic as she finished her first glass of champagne. “I take one bite and I swell up into a red mess.”

“So, you become that which you fear.” I refilled her glass.

“What?”

“You turn into a strawberry.”

She choked on a surprised laugh mid-sip, but recovered with adorable self-deprecation. “Exactly, but not nearly as tasty.”

I tilted my head to the side and scrutinized her, mumbling under my breath before I could catch the words, “That’s debatable.”

She must’ve heard my comment because she squirmed and averted her eyes, casting them to the sky while she took another sip of her champagne and changed the subject. “This is good stuff, Sean. If I’d known you had champagne in your cabin I would have been nicer to you.”

“Ah, so champagne is the way to your heart?”

“That’s right, Bubs. Give me a good bubbly and I’m a happy woman.” She appeared to be on the verge of laughing.

“And you’ve nicknamed me after champagne? I guess I’m flattered.”

“You should be.” Lucy gulped the rest of her glass, then added as though it were an afterthought, “I only nickname people I like.”

I’d been reaching for the bottle to refill her glass when she said the words, halting my movements.

I only nickname people I like.

Strangely, inexplicably, the air was too thin and I couldn’t quite gather enough into my lungs. I sensed her eyes on me so I forced a smile.

“But we both know you don’t like me,” I said.

“Of course.” Her voice held a slight tremble and she held her glass out to be refilled. “Of course I don’t like you.”