Page 92 of Pretty Poison

Asher leaned in. “Just what are you planning to do to me in this very public park?”

Rocky rolled his eyes. “Dream on, big guy. This way,” he said, tugging on Asher’s hand. “I have an extraordinary spot in mind.”

“How much farther?” Asher asked after a few minutes. “I’m starving.”

“Just over there.” Rocky pointed to a huge shade tree that provided a fantastic view of the water.

Rocky spread out the blanket once they reached the tree. Asher set the basket in the middle, then sat down beside it. Rather than dig in immediately, his husband stared across the little lake for several moments before looking at Rocky.

“This spot feels so familiar to me, but I’ve never been here.”

“Yes, you have,” Rocky said. “This exact view was captured in watercolor and hangs over the couch.”

“Oh, wow,” Asher said. “Your mom was so talented. The trees are taller and fuller, but otherwise little has changed. Thank you for sharing it with me.” He leaned over and captured Rocky’s lips for a sweet kiss.

“I will hopefully have another surprise for you later this afternoon.”

“What is it?” Asher asked.

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you. Besides, I don’t want to get your hopes up in case it falls through.”

Happiness hummed through Rocky as Asher continued to prod him for clues while they unpacked the basket. His husband was easy to distract when Rocky started feeding him various bites of food.

“You people are really loose with your definitions of a salad,” Asher said after sampling potato salad, broccoli salad, and even fruit salad. Maybe Rocky had gone a little overboard with his selection.

“If it has mayo or marshmallow fluff, it’s a salad. Here’s a nonsalad picnic staple,” Rocky said, feeding Asher a kettle chip dusted in Carolina barbecue seasoning.

“I’m not complaining,” Asher said, then took a massive bite of his chicken salad croissant.

Once they finished eating, Asher sat against the tree and Rocky lay on the blanket, using Asher’s thigh as a pillow. His husband lazily stroked his fingers through Rocky’s hair while reading the smutty romance out loud.

“Oh, yeah, Marla will love this,” Rocky said as his eyes grew heavier.

He’d just about drifted to sleep when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Rocky thought about ignoring it but remembered he was waiting to hear back about Asher’s surprise. He sat up and scooted over to the far corner of the blanket so his husband couldn’t see the message.

“Better not be dick pics.”

“Shut up,” Rocky said as he checked the message. His pulse picked up when he received the answer he’d hoped for. Jerking his head up, he said, “I found our girl.”

“Um, what?”

“Fifi,” Rocky said. “Well, ironically, her name is Fiona, but we can work with it, right?”

Asher grinned. “Are you kidding?”

Rocky shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about the dog a lot since you brought it up.”

“Because it’s a freaking great idea,” Asher said. He practically vibrated with excitement.

“Karen agrees. I called her while you were gone, and she told me the right kind of dog will help me with my recovery. She referred me to several different sites where they train dogs for emotional support and personal protection. Fiona is a two-year-old German shepherd trained to do both.” Rocky thought of the videos he’d seen of Fiona on their site and started laughing. “Most of these dogs failed out of K9 school for various reasons. Fiona was a little bit wackadoodle as a pup, so we might see remnants of it on some days.”

Asher laughed. “How wackadoodle?”

Rocky scooted over to sit beside his husband, then pulled up the website and clicked on the video. “See for yourself. Keep in mind she was just a baby in the beginning.”

Asher started chuckling as soon as the video played. They’d put Fiona through several different tests, and her hyper ass had failed every single one. Instead of attacking the guy dressed in pads, she peed on his foot. Instead of calmly aiding the trainer who was using a walker, Fiona jerked it out of the woman’s hands and attacked the tennis balls on the bottom of the legs. Luckily, it was just a training exercise and the lady wasn’t dependent on the walker, or she would’ve fallen over and gotten hurt.

“Come on,” Asher said, pointing to the screen. “She saw those tennis balls and couldn’t resist. Who could blame her?”