Best Laid Plans

He was at the ever-loving gym?

“I hope you had the best workout ever, then,” I say, keeping my tone chipper, even though inside I’m thinking that’s rude with a capital R. But I have things to do and plans for us, so I move on. “And I’m glad you made it. I have a picnic lunch with all your favorites.” I jut out my hip then whisper, “Including me. It’s private here too. We can eat and chat and maybe more . . .” A flush spreads across my cheeks as my voice trails off in invitation. The suggestion feels a little risqué to me, but I’d like to try a little risqué-ness. I’ve never had sex outdoors, and I honestly wouldn’t mind trying something new. I shiver at the thought.

David looks away, scratching his jaw. “Yeah, that’s the thing, Arden.”

“What’s the thing?” My pitch rises as worry shoots up in me. His tone is saying something before his words do, and that something isn’t what I want to hear.

He sighs, smiles sympathetically, and then fingers a strand of my blonde hair. “You’re so sweet. Seriously. You’re like the nicest girl I’ve ever met.”

There’s a but coming. A big fat but.

I swallow past the stone in my throat. “Nice is good, right?” I sound as if I’m white-knuckling a steering wheel so I don’t drive a car off the side of the road.

David leans closer, lets go of my hair, and drops his voice like he’s prepping to say something grave to a patient. “But I like naughty better, so I don’t think this is going to work out.”

The earth slips beneath me. The sky falls. My plans crater. This was not on my schedule for today.

Especially since he has no idea how much I’d be interested in trying something new in bed. But he’s never asked.

“You never said you liked naughty better,” I point out as my stomach twists and hurt claws its way up my throat.

He shakes his head, making sure I don’t miss his meaning as he points from him to me. “I shouldn’t have to say it. Naughty should come naturally.”

“What? You shouldn’t have to say it? How else would I know what you wanted?”

He laughs gently. “Even if I said it, it doesn’t matter. You’re too good. It’s your natural state. You don’t have a naughty bone in your body.”

“Oh, I do. I definitely have several.” He’s wrong. He’s so wrong. All my naughty bones are just waiting to be used.

“You’re so adorable. That’s why I don’t think you and I will work out.”

Of course we can work. All we have to do is talk. Maybe he’s been working too hard in the ER. Maybe he’s stress-tired. Surely that must be it.

I place a hand on his chest. “We can talk about this. Work this out. Try all sorts of new things in the bedroom, or even here. This is the first time you’ve mentioned it, but I’m up for it. I was literally thinking about other uses for this blanket before you showed up. I know we haven’t had sex outdoors, but we should try new things in the bedroom and out of the bedroom.” I take a deep breath and go for it. “After all, I love you and I want you to move in with me. Isn’t that where we are headed?”

Not exactly how I planned to ask him, but clearly I have to launch the parachute quickly and try to save our plane from tumbling out of the sky.

He smiles even more sympathetically, quite possibly full of abject pity for me. This isn’t going to end how I want it to at all. I am the biggest fool in the land.

“Look at you. So good to me up until the end. That’s why it took me so long to say this. Because you treat me like a king, and you’re so damn sweet. It almost makes me want to stay.” He sighs. “But you’re too vanilla.” He pats my head like I’m a pet, and evidently I’m the Maltese he’s not taking home from the pound instead of the chocolate lab he really wants.

I jerk my head away from him. “Don’t pat me like a dog.”

“I was just trying to be nice.”

“Oh, don’t even use that word with me right now. ‘Nice,’” I hiss, even as tears threaten my throat, clogging my voice.

He ignores me, gesturing to the picnic spread. “Food looks good. Can I grab some cheese and crackers before I go? I do love Gouda.”

Shock slams into me, radiating to every pore. I can’t even speak or scream—no, you can’t have the Gouda, you jackass—because I’m so floored by his callous request.

The hungry jerk takes my silence as a yes and helps himself, bending to grab a few slices of cheese from the basket and a couple of crackers. My eyes burn with tears, and I want to smack his impromptu snack out of his hand, but I can’t because my blood has turned sluggish.

David turns to go, and I’m in quicksand, unable to move or speak. As his footsteps fade, something new replaces the shock.

Anger.

He took my cheese.

He took my freaking Gouda cheese.

“You don’t deserve cheese. You don’t deserve chocolate. You don’t deserve vanilla,” I shout between sobs, then grab the bottle of wine, open it, and guzzle a needy gulp.

A crunch of leaves sounds from the trail, and my heart speeds into overdrive.

He’s returned. He realized his mistake. He’s going to ask me to stay with him. I fasten on a smile, swipe my cheeks, and prepare to let him grovel.

First, he’ll apologize for taking my Gouda.

Second, he’ll take back that stupid vanilla comment.

Third, he’ll say he’s sorry he never piped up before about all these naughty bones that need tending to.

Then, and only then, will I let him enjoy the picnic of me.

I peer down the path, searching for my man.

But he’s still gone, and I’m still alone, dumped at a picnic lunch, when I planned to ask him to move in with me. My only company is a bird, an industrious robin, scouring the trail.

Why should he suffer because I’ve been ditched? I toss him a cracker and he pecks at it.

“Have a snack,” I mutter.

Another robin swoops down, joining his buddy on the dirt to enjoy the unexpected snack I’d planned to share with David.