The blankets were eight-foot squares and brightly checkered. All we were missing were the ants, and it could have been a cartoon.
“Liff!” Polly cheered.
“Lie to me and tell me my name was her first word,” I joke.
“No, but it was one of her first human names,” Brigid chuckled, looking down at the little girl.
She sat on the other blanket, exactly six feet from mine, set up with its own basket. I didn’t really think Polly would be into fondue or goat cheese, so I improvised, mostly using the blender.
My date kept her legs crossed at the ankles as she put Polly down beside her. Those legs were beautiful and on full display as she dug through the basket like a kid at Christmas.
“Baby shakes?” Brigid asked, taking out one of the juice bottles of thick liquid.
“I was thinking smoothies but yeah, pretty much,” I confessed with a humble shrug.
“That’s brilliant!”
“Thanks.”
“I could kiss you,” Brigid smiled.
“No, you can’t, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
She blushed furiously, no doubt remembering what we had done the night before. Both of us had clearly wanted so much more. We would just have to wait a while longer. Still, that didn’t mean we couldn’t have fun in the meantime.
Giving Polly one of the specially made baby shakes – it really was a better term – Brigid busied herself with the plate of deviled eggs, acting like she was trying not to meet my eye. As though if she so much as gazed up at me, she would jump my bones, or at least one bone in particular, right then and there.
Not that I didn’t feel the same about her. I was keeping my emotions in check, though, difficult as it was.
Thoroughly energized by my concoction, Polly took on a new spark of life. She turned from the sedate, content baby I had seen before into a pint-sized dynamo, running over to my blanket as fast as her little legs would carry her.
Brigid barely got to her in time, swooping Polly up off her feet for several seconds, playing an impromptu game of airplane. Polly giggled as her feet left the ground.
“Sorry, she has a mind of her own,” Brigid apologized, taking Polly back over to their side of the picnic.
“As should be expected.”
Apparently, Polly took my words as permission and as soon as her feet touched grass, she was back over, trying to hug me. I was too fast for her and was up off the blanket and taking a slow lap around the perimeter of our island in the sea of green before she was within arm’s reach.
Brigid was too busy laughing to even attempt to collect her spawn. No matter though. I didn’t figure a toddler could outlast me, particularly at that speed.
Sure enough, before long she started huffing and puffing, then took the most adorable belly flop, her little legs no longer cooperating with the rest of her body. This necessitated another bout of heartfelt giggling, Polly able to see the humor of her own situation.
“Nice bit of self-awareness,” I said, as Brigid scooped up her very amused daughter.
“I do my best with her.”
Lunch finished, Brigid and I set into dessert with the ferocity of an avenging army. Brigid got a dabble of whipped cream at the corner of her sweet mouth, and I wanted so much to clean it away for her. With my tongue, if possible. I chained the wolf howling within, remembering my civilized side.
“I would like to show you something,” I said, as we cleared up our respective spots.
“On your bike? I don’t think we’ll all fit.”
“It’s within walking distance.”
“Won’t it look, well, odd? Walking down the street with ‘pick-ah-nick’ baskets?”
“Afraid Ranger Smith will catch us?”
“Among other things.”
“Trust me, love. Wicker baskets are far from the weirdest things people have seen me with.”
“Oh, do tell.”
“Let’s just say the boys in blue tend to look askew at a Norse longbow and full quiver of arrows. Even if you are only taking them in for storage at your range. Revolvers, fine, but the weapon used to fell King Harold at the Battle of Hastings? Far too deadly.”
We made sure to keep our six feet apart as I led her to the Crow’s Nest. I descended to the lower level first, maintaining social distancing as well as showing Brigid the best way to tackle the riddle of the stairs.
There really was a trick to it; you just had to know where to put your feet. All safe at the bottom of the chasm, I held the door for Brigid as she got gloves and a mask.
“Letting the ghosts in?” Ola asked.
“Not quite.”
“This is amazing!” Brigid marveled, gazing about the deceptively large shop.
“Bigger on the inside, jellybean,” Ola said.
“Why do you call me that?” Briged asked.
“Your hair,” Ola said.
“My hair?”
“Bright red. Look like strawberry jellybean.”