Can't Always Get What You Want (24 page)

“Come on, Red,” he urges, giving me puppy-dog eyes. I reluctantly grin at him.

“Okay.”

I can’t see anything.

I can hear frogs chirping, and the crunch of our shoes on twigs and dry leaves. I can smell the sweet scents of autumn and Aaron’s aftershave.

“Is it safe out here?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for starters, do you know if there are any wild animals around?”

“No. Well, none but me. You think I’m the big bad wolf, after all.”

He ushers me down the path, toward some unknown destination. His body is pressed tightly behind mine, his right hand splayed across my waist, our left hands entwined. His lips are at my ear.

Aaron starts singing a song to me about a wolf falling in love with Little Red Riding Hood. The lyrics and melody sweet and dark. Just like him.

In between words, he nips at my ear, and then at my neck.

“Ooooowwwww!”
he howls at the end of the song.

A small giggle escapes my lips.

“What song was that?” I ask.

“Not sure, really. It was on a CD my mom had of sixties music.” He gently squeezes my waist. “The lyrics remind me of you. Of us.”

We suddenly stop walking. I still can’t see anything. The anticipation is eating away at me. I feel like I could sprout wings and fly.

“Can I take my blindfold off now?”

“Yes.”

I cover my mouth with my hands and breathe out a single word.

“Oh…”

We’re standing at the top of a hill that slopes toward a small clearing. Golden sunlight no longer bathes every surface. Now, there is only the afterglow of a purple sunset.

About twenty yards away, under a tall tree, stands a large red tent. Not a nylon tent that you’d go camping in. No, this looks far more exotic. It reminds me of something an Arabic sheikh would live in. Strings of clear, white lights are strung between the trees.

Aaron rests his chin on my shoulder.

“Do you like it?”

“You did all this?”

“I had a little help.” He offers his hand.

“Come, your birthday dinner is waiting.”

Walking toward the tent, I still can’t get over all the lights. It makes the place look magical.

“How did you manage all of this? There can’t be any electricity nearby.”

“Solar lights,” he explains.

“It’s incredible, Aaron.”

He smiles shyly, and gestures toward the tent. “Wait till you see what I have in store for you inside.”

Please let it be you. Naked. I’ve got condoms in my purse and everything.

What? A girl can dream, can’t she? We still haven’t, you know…done the horizontal polka.

He draws the doorway open a bit farther, and takes a theatrical bow.

“After you,” he says.

The tent is dimly lit with several strings of lights, adding to the romantic ambience. There is a low, square table in the middle of the tent, surrounded by large, richly colored cushions. Aaron sets an ordinary-looking blue cooler on the table, the kind you’d take on camping trips. It looks very out of place beside the exotic decor.

Where did the cooler come from? Perhaps he grabbed it out of the car when I wasn’t looking? I start to peek inside the cooler, but it’s abruptly taken from me.

Aaron wags his finger. “Tsk tsk tsk. Such impatience.”

He fluffs up a large pillow for me. Once I’m seated, he smiles and exhales a shaky breath. Is he…nervous?

“On zee menu tonight…” he begins, with a faux French accent.

Although perhaps it’s not so faux. He speaks French, after all.

“…vee have couscous and cucumber salad,” he says, setting down a clear blue container with an exaggerated flourish.

“An aromatic chicken and apricot stew, spiced with just a hint of cinnamon,” he adds, presenting a large plastic thermos.

“And the pièce de résistance,” he says, while drumming the side of the cooler for effect, “Sacher torte.”

I laugh. “How did that make it in there? It doesn’t seem to go with the Middle Eastern theme.”

“It’s in there because it’s your birthday, and I know it’s your favorite,” he replies simply.

Well, he’s got me there.

Sacher torte is divine. A rich chocolate cake, filled with a ribbon of apricot preserves, and topped off with chocolate ganache. What’s not to love?

“How did you set this all up anyway?” I ask through a mouthful of chicken stew.

“I had a bit of help.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Can’t let a guy have a little mystery, can you?”

“Nope.”

He laughs. “It was Sam and her mom. And my quadding buddies.”

I blink. “Your quadding buddies?”

They’re all very nice guys, but a little rough around the edges. I can’t imagine them setting up twinkly fairy lights in the trees.

“Well, they kind of helped. Their parents own the land, and we rip up the trails around here.”

“And the food?” Since Nita was involved, I imagine she cooked all of it.

“I made it.”

“You made it? Even the cake?”

“No, I bought that. Even if I messed up the rest of the meal, I wanted to get that part right.”

I’m feeling a bit choked up.

“Where’d you find the tent?”

He sighs, clearly becoming a bit frustrated with my line of questioning.

“All right, I’ll let you keep a bit of mystery,” I say. “You really outdid yourself. This is the best birthday surprise I’ve ever had.”

He grins at me. “Naturally.”

It’s quite dark outside now, save for the dimming solar lights, and the full moon shining between the trees.

“Come, look at the stars with me,” Aaron says.

We stand there looking up at the sky for a long time. I’ve never seen such a clear night sky. The cool air eventually reminds me that:

A)  We’re in the country. At night. In October.

B)  I don’t have a warm jacket with me.

C)  It’s really dark out, and I have no idea how we’ll find the car again.

“Suppose we should clean up and head back,” I say sadly. I really don’t want this night to end.

“We’re staying here tonight,” he replies.

“What? Aaron, it’s way too cold. We don’t have sleeping bags, or pillows, or anything. We can’t stay out here.”

“Oh ye of little faith.” He saunters behind the tent, and emerges moments later with two overnight bags and what looks like the most enormous sleeping bag I’ve ever seen, tucked under his arm.

I roll my eyes at myself. Of course he had this all planned out. Then, the logistics of his plan hit me like a ton of bricks.

We’ll be out here. Alone. All night.

I nearly knock him over as I bolt back into the tent.

“Easy, tiger!” he laughs out. I hastily clear away the food and move the table away to make room for our sleeping bag.

Minutes later, we have the sleeping bag rolled out, and we’re crushing our half- naked bodies together, lost in a passionate lip-lock.

This is the most brilliant plan he’s ever had. I tell him so.

“Brilliant, huh?” he murmurs, leaning over me.

“One more question,” I plead.

He flops onto his back. “If you must.”

“What’s with the Moroccan theme?”

“Don’t you like it?”

“I do. It’s very romantic,” I say, running my fingers over his chest.

He turns onto his side and leans up on his elbow. “You said that you’d like to go there, maybe on our way back home after seeing Turkey next summer.”

I blink at him. “How do you manage to remember every little thing I say?”

He shrugs, as best he can lying on his side. “What can I say? You beguile me. You always have.”

“Yeah, well, you perplex me,” I say. “Who else in the world likes bacon jam?”

“That was fantastic, and you know it,” he says, laughing.

Ever since I made him his first peanut butter and jam sandwich, Aaron has been trying every jam, jelly, and peanut butter combo he can think of. It didn’t take him long to go through the usual store-bought flavors, and he’s been becoming a bit more creative.

He saw bacon jam on the Food Network once, and was determined to find a place that sold it. It took a little Internet research, but it paid off. He ate the entire jar in one sitting, combining it with peanut butter on toast. I nearly gagged on the first bite.

“What weird combos have you tried this week?”

“Marmalade and almond butter.”

“You are so weird.”

“You know it.”

We’re silent for a moment, staring at each other.

“Are you still keeping the labels?” I tease. I bugged him mercilessly about this at first, but now I think it’s kind of cute. He’s been saving the labels from every jar and container of peanut butter or jam that he tries. Not sure what he’s going to do with them all. He’s already amassed quite a collection.

“Yup.”

Aaron turns to me, his eyes flashing. “Hey! Did you know that in New York, there’s a place called Peanut Butter & Co? They make chocolate peanut butter, white chocolate peanut butter, cinnamon swirl, and so on. And get this, Soph: all of the sandwiches on their menu have peanut butter on them.”

“I’ve created a monster.” I laugh, look over at Aaron, and notice him rubbing his temples. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

“Still getting headaches?”

“Yeah. Usually just in the morning, though.”

“Maybe you should go see a doctor.”

He shrugs. “I think it’s just a bug. I felt nauseous earlier this week too.”

Our bodies have drifted apart slightly, and I’m starting to feel cold. Inching my body along the hard ground, I snuggle up into Aaron’s chest, burying my nose in his dark chest hair.

“I’m cold,” I admit.

“I’ll warm you up,” he says.

Our bodies are pressed together, our hands running up and down each other’s limbs to stay warm.

It doesn’t take long for our libidos to warm up too.

We kiss and entwine our nearly naked bodies beneath the sleeping bag, and I can’t quite believe that I’m here.

In the middle of a rather lush kiss, Aaron wrenches his lips away from mine. My mouth nearly stings at the separation.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, all out of breath.

I roll him onto his back, and straddle his hips. I look down at him, meeting his eyes.

“I love you. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

“I love you too.”

Chapter 20

Worried About You

“What do you think of this one?” Samira asks, holding up another sari.

“What?” I say.

Sam holds up a deep purple fabric with gold trim.

I smile weakly. “Yes, that’s lovely.”

I can’t stop thinking about Aaron. I’ve been seeing him in crowds, hearing him in songs he used to sing. A documentary on Turkey was on TV earlier this week. I got about two minutes into it, and burst into tears.

I force all thoughts of him to their usual corner in my mind, and muster as much enthusiasm as I can.

“I like it, but I was thinking something more like this.”

Regarding the closest stack of fabric I can reach, I select the first color I’m drawn to. It’s a dark teal, with wide silver trim.

There. Now maybe she’ll think I’ve been paying attention.

Shaking out the fabric, I hold it up against my face and turn toward the mirror.

“It looks great,” Samira says, smiling.

Thank God. My diversion seems to have paid off, and she’s cheery again.

“Well, if you think that’s the one, then let’s buy it and go. I’m starving,” she says.

“Are you sure you’re fine with us all wearing different colors?” I ask.

“I don’t care what you wear. So long as you aren’t drunk or have greasy hair the day of, I’ll be happy,” she replies.

“Adrian’s?” I ask after we exit the store. The summer has been so busy, I feel like we haven’t been to our favorite café in forever.

“Definitely,” she agrees.

We leave our purchases in the car and walk to Adrian’s, which is only a couple blocks away. It’s a lovely September afternoon. Samira and I are seated on the patio, at our favorite table. From here, I have a clear view of the window display. This month, they have created a full-size peacock with his tail feathers spread, made entirely out of wooden clothespins, painted in bright colors. It’s truly a work of art.

“I wonder who makes their window displays,” I muse.

Samira shrugs, and waves the waiter over.

And that’s when I see him.

A young man, with dark skin, a square jaw, and longish brown hair driving toward us. His car stops right beside our table, idling while he waits for the traffic light to change. Is he the same young man I treated in the ER a few months back? The one who looked like Aaron?

My heart hammers in my chest. I feel an irresistible urge to run after him.

“Soph? Soph!” Samira’s voice snaps.

“What? Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, as I finally turn to the waiter. He smiles at me tightly.

How long have I been staring into the distance? I clear my throat, plaster on my happy mask, and order my lunch. Glancing toward the street, I notice that the car has sped down the road. I’m drowning in an unexpected pang of disappoint
ment.

I flick my eyes up to Sam and see her leaning sideways in her chair, fingers drumming over her mouth.