always prefer my lake.
Gray pulled up in front of my old college apartment. I’d thought about moving into something bigger, something more adult, after I’d graduated, but I’d gotten comfortable here. I didn’t need much space.
I got in his car and saw a picnic basket on the backseat.
“I was right,” I said as I climbed into the passenger seat. I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You know I love sunset picnics.”
He shook his head. “Not tonight, though we can make it a point of going out next week.”
There was a flash of happiness in his eyes. “This is something new,” he said. “A surprise.”
Wherever we were going might be new, but this teasing, surprising side of Gray was newer still. Graham Grayson was not a man given to unexpected things, nor was he a man who was prone to teasing.
“Give me a hint?” I wheedled.
He shook his head. “Be patient.”
“I think that maybe I missed the patience line when they were handing out virtues,” I told him, not for the first time. “To be honest, I think we both know that there’s no maybe about it.”
“I might not have gotten a full dose either,” he said.
I snorted at his statement, then laughed when I realized that he actually believed what he’d said. “You are the most patient, methodical man I’ve ever met. You set a goal and then work your way toward it, one step after the next. You never seem to get sidetracked or frustrated. You just keep moving toward that goal with utter assurance you’ll reach it.”
“I am not as patient as you think,” he said cryptically. I noticed he drove with his hands at ten and two, just like the drivers’ manuals said. There was a slight paleness to his knuckles, as if he was clenching the steering wheel harder than necessary.
I stopped teasing and asked, “Gray, are you all right?”
He nodded. “I’m fine, of course. I’m with you, aren’t I?”
Gray was not a man who waxed poetic. To be honest, he didn’t wax much of anything. Most of the time I did the talking for both of us. So, his I’m-with-you-aren’t-I was probably one of the most romantic things he ever said.
As I swooned over it, he added, “But, for the record, sometimes I set a goal and realize it’s unrealistic, then I rethink things. I am capable of changing directions.”
I snorted again. I’d yet to find an instance where Gray altered his course. But I was too happy to argue the point.
“So where are we going?” I asked, thinking my question might catch him unaware.
I should have known better.
“We’ll be there soon,” he answered.
“Captain Cryptic strikes again,” I muttered.
Gray reached State Street and headed south. State Street started at the bay and split the city into an east and a west side. It also split the city’s downtown park, Perry Square, in half.
I loved driving through Perry Square. They’d spent the last few years sprucing it up and I thought it looked lovely with its welcoming arches and its fountain.
Beyond Perry Square we passed City Hall, which sat on the west side of the street, and a couple of blocks up from the historic Warner Theater, which sat on the east side.
I found myself counting the streets, whose number increased as Gray drove away from the bay. Twelfth Street, Thirteenth . . .
We reached Thirty-Eighth Street and I was sure he’d take this other main street either east or west. Once he picked a direction, I might have a chance at guessing our destination.
But he kept driving. At Forty-First, he turned right, then a couple of blocks later, turned left, so we were heading south again, on Willow Lane.
He pulled the car over to the side of the road and said, “Let’s go.”
“Where are we?” I might have thought we were going to some colleague’s house, but if so he’d have asked me to dress up, not down.
“You’ll see,” he said.
“Mr. Mysterious allies with his pal Captain Cryptic on another mad adventure,” I said in my best radio-broadcaster
Gray pulled up in front of my old college apartment. I’d thought about moving into something bigger, something more adult, after I’d graduated, but I’d gotten comfortable here. I didn’t need much space.
I got in his car and saw a picnic basket on the backseat.
“I was right,” I said as I climbed into the passenger seat. I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You know I love sunset picnics.”
He shook his head. “Not tonight, though we can make it a point of going out next week.”
There was a flash of happiness in his eyes. “This is something new,” he said. “A surprise.”
Wherever we were going might be new, but this teasing, surprising side of Gray was newer still. Graham Grayson was not a man given to unexpected things, nor was he a man who was prone to teasing.
“Give me a hint?” I wheedled.
He shook his head. “Be patient.”
“I think that maybe I missed the patience line when they were handing out virtues,” I told him, not for the first time. “To be honest, I think we both know that there’s no maybe about it.”
“I might not have gotten a full dose either,” he said.
I snorted at his statement, then laughed when I realized that he actually believed what he’d said. “You are the most patient, methodical man I’ve ever met. You set a goal and then work your way toward it, one step after the next. You never seem to get sidetracked or frustrated. You just keep moving toward that goal with utter assurance you’ll reach it.”
“I am not as patient as you think,” he said cryptically. I noticed he drove with his hands at ten and two, just like the drivers’ manuals said. There was a slight paleness to his knuckles, as if he was clenching the steering wheel harder than necessary.
I stopped teasing and asked, “Gray, are you all right?”
He nodded. “I’m fine, of course. I’m with you, aren’t I?”
Gray was not a man who waxed poetic. To be honest, he didn’t wax much of anything. Most of the time I did the talking for both of us. So, his I’m-with-you-aren’t-I was probably one of the most romantic things he ever said.
As I swooned over it, he added, “But, for the record, sometimes I set a goal and realize it’s unrealistic, then I rethink things. I am capable of changing directions.”
I snorted again. I’d yet to find an instance where Gray altered his course. But I was too happy to argue the point.
“So where are we going?” I asked, thinking my question might catch him unaware.
I should have known better.
“We’ll be there soon,” he answered.
“Captain Cryptic strikes again,” I muttered.
Gray reached State Street and headed south. State Street started at the bay and split the city into an east and a west side. It also split the city’s downtown park, Perry Square, in half.
I loved driving through Perry Square. They’d spent the last few years sprucing it up and I thought it looked lovely with its welcoming arches and its fountain.
Beyond Perry Square we passed City Hall, which sat on the west side of the street, and a couple of blocks up from the historic Warner Theater, which sat on the east side.
I found myself counting the streets, whose number increased as Gray drove away from the bay. Twelfth Street, Thirteenth . . .
We reached Thirty-Eighth Street and I was sure he’d take this other main street either east or west. Once he picked a direction, I might have a chance at guessing our destination.
But he kept driving. At Forty-First, he turned right, then a couple of blocks later, turned left, so we were heading south again, on Willow Lane.
He pulled the car over to the side of the road and said, “Let’s go.”
“Where are we?” I might have thought we were going to some colleague’s house, but if so he’d have asked me to dress up, not down.
“You’ll see,” he said.
“Mr. Mysterious allies with his pal Captain Cryptic on another mad adventure,” I said in my best radio-broadcaster
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