He smiled, his eyes on a spot in front of us where the sidewalk ended. “I’ve been up a while.” Using his foot to push it down, he held a flimsy wire fence out of my way and gestured for me to climb over and onto the wooded path. “But I decided I was done waiting for you to stop by the diner again. Sometimes a man has to make a move.”
I felt a jolt of happiness pass through me, so glad to be the girl Kai considered worthy of such a move. “Um,” I said, turning to more prosaic thoughts, “where are we going?” The path was utterly dark, and the only light was that cast by a nearly full moon. I walked with my hands in front of me to prevent an errant branch from poking me in the eye. Kai took me gently by the shoulders and passed by so he could lead the way.
“I mean,” I continued, trying not to sound rattled, “you’re not posing as a beautiful man who makes buttermilk pancakes and muffins that make me moan, when really you’re a serial killer. Or a kidnapper. Or a—”
“Don’t worry,” Kai said, but I could hear the smile in his voice. “Be patient. We’re almost there.”
“I have virtues.” My breathing had become ragged during our upward climb. “But patience is not one of them.”
I stopped short when we entered a clearing. It took a beat for me to realize I was standing with my mouth open.
“Wow,” I said, and the word was carried by the breeze and out to the expanse beyond us. Kai had led us to a grassy oval clearing perched on the side of a cliff. The Pacific Ocean unfolded like a handful of diamonds below us. A teasing, warm breeze tugged at my hair, sending shivers along my scalp and bringing with it the perfect and ancient smell of sand and sea. I drank in the panorama, the moving silver ribbons of water, the regal moon, the stars playing hide-and-seek with wispy clouds.
Kai said nothing and set the picnic basket down onto the grass.
We watched in silence as the moonlight danced on the slow waves, winking and gasping with each crest before tumbling onto the rocky beach below. I must have stood there longer than I realized because when I turned, Kai had lit three small lanterns and had shelved them among the rocks that formed a curve around the picnic spot. He was shaking out a blanket, and I stepped forward to help. We let it fall onto the grass, and I smoothed the fabric with one hand, making sure the front was parallel with the edge of the cliff.
I looked up. Kai had stopped moving and was standing still with several covered dishes in his arms. He looked as though he were trying very hard not to laugh.
“What?” I kept both hands on the blanket, pulling it taut to keep it wrinkle-free.
“Blanket okay? Should I go get a level?”
I pursed my lips but kept my hands on the ground. “I like symmetry. And clean lines. And, um, perfect stuff.”
His laugh rolled like an undulating wave. Dropping to his knees, he set the dishes carefully on the blanket. “The world must be a rough place for you, then, Miss Garrett. I’m sure it doesn’t always follow your rules.”
“Oh, with enough persistence, things usually work out in my favor,” I said, distracted by the smells coming up from the plates he was uncovering.
He shook his head and handed me a package wrapped in foil. “I’m pretty sure my asymmetrical knife work will offend your moral sensibilities, but try not to think too much about it. We have fresh mozz, heirloom tomatoes, basil, and a sprinkling of goat cheese on your panini. It was warm at one point this evening, but the flavors only get better as you let them moosh.”
“Moosh?” My stomach rumbled as I unwrapped the sandwich. “Sounds technical.” I stopped talking because my first bite demanded a respectful silence. The crunch of crispy exterior gave way to an extroverted, summery flavor: notes of salt and a splash of bright tomato, still-warm mozzarella … I heard a sigh escape my lips and saw Kai thoroughly enjoying my enjoyment. “This,” I said, mouth still full, “is perfect.”
His eyes widened around his own bite of panini. Blotting his chin with a napkin, he said, “Good. That’s what I was aiming for.” He pointed to a collection of plastic containers. “After you’ve regained your composure, we also have my grandmother’s famous new potato salad with bacon and cider vinaigrette, sliced mango and strawberries, and a triple-layer chocolate cake for dessert.”
“All right, what’s the catch?” I speared a slice of mango with my fork. “Do you live with your mother?”
“Not for the last sixteen years.”
“Have you ever filed for bankruptcy?”
“Nope.”
“All right, then,” I said, undeterred. “Then you have a fetish. Something bizarre and off-putting that has frightened off all sorts of well-fed women before me. What is it?” I pointed my plastic fork at his chest. “Feet? Power tools? Chipmunks?”