Freshly picked berries, a still warm Bundt, a Gewürztraminer with an odd hint of basil, and an unopened jar of an Erno Lazlo facial mask cream. The hummingbirds hovered closely. The year-round inhabitants of New Jersey’s historic Joyce Kilmer Service Area privately smiled politely, not quite sure whether they should be nervous.
Toby and Damian questioned their motives and were now certain they were indeed sending mixed signals.
Fleur de Lisa and Neeley shared a sweet, questioning wink … albeit of a private and reassuring nature. Were they leading the boys on simply by remaining open to the notion? Aren’t all Saturdays meant to provide both score and script?
All four picnickers felt some type of guilt. And that guilt placed in four distinct notches on the Sieber-Markle Continuum of Guilt and Other Malfunctioning Emotions.
By that point, Toby had poured each of them a “separate but equal” glass of wine. The story in their eyes traveled quickly around the blanket, coming to rest on the bottle’s neck.
“Salut” “Here’s to the noble hummingbirds!” “To us! To our individual stories and the one we’ll pen together” “Cheers, my friends, and dance. The Bossa Nova knows no shame.”
Damian went to his truck to fetch another chilled bottle of wine. He also needed a few moments of privacy in his Dakota to rearrange his sexy charm and to rehearse the verbiage.
It’s a boy thing.