Page 77 of The Five Year Lie

That’s what I’m afraid of.

25

FIVE YEARS AGO, JULY

It’s already late July. The summer is flying by.

Drew is spreading a blanket on the grass in the park while Ariel waits, holding the cooler.

This date was his idea. There is a symphony orchestra playing in the band shell. The article he read promised music by Mozart.

Or, wait. Beethoven?

It doesn’t matter. He’s never going to be a classical music buff. The point of coming here was to feed Ariel picnic food and lie on the blanket under the sky.

She settles onto the blanket as he opens the cooler he bought for this occasion. “There’s wine, and it looks like that’s allowed.” He sees other picnickers with alcoholic beverages, which is reassuring. He absolutely cannot get arrested. His fake driver’s license would not hold up to scrutiny. Weeks ago he took the real one out of his wallet, right after he and Ariel became a couple.

He’s broken all of his rules for her. Every single one.

But now is not the time to worry about that. From the cooler he pulls paper plates, napkins, and a fresh baguette. There are also three different cheeses, knives to spread them with, assorted olives, and even pâté. Plus dessert.

Maybe he’s overshot, though. When he pulls out the prosecco—and two plastic champagne flutes he purchased to serve it in—Ariel’s eyes widen with surprise.

He braces himself to be teased for going that extra mile, but that’s not what happens. Instead, Ariel’s face takes on a stunned, unguarded expression. “This is the nicest picnic anyone ever made for me.”

And, yup, now he feels like he’s just unpacked his heart instead, and laid it bleeding on the blanket between them. He can feel their summer slipping away. Every night they spend together is another day closer to his departure.

It feels shitty that he’s the only one who knows it.

A moment later, though, she tries to recover her characteristic snark. “To be fair, this is theonlypicnic anyone ever made me.”

“That is a damn shame, then.” He holds her eyes, and for a moment they get trapped right there, tangled up in the things that neither of them is willing to say.

Ariel drops her gaze. “I’ll hold the glasses while you pour.”

“Great idea.”

It’s a beautiful night, and the orchestra starts up while they’re busy filling up on cheese and French bread.

He’s never had pâté before, and he’s not sure he’s a fan. It’s like salty meat that’s been put through a blender. But the cheeses are buttery and delicious. And the blueberry shortcake he also brought—two generous portions—is a real winner.

After they’ve eaten their fill, he props himself up on the soft-sided cooler, and Ariel fits herself under one of his arms, reclining on his chest. The musicians—dozens of them—are crammed onto the stage a hundred yards away. Their shiny instruments glow under yellow stage lighting, while a million moths and fireflies dart in confused circles near the bright beams.

Drew knows how they feel—dizzy. The classical music carries his drifting thoughts in a thousand directions. Falling for Ariel was never part of his plan.

But his worry cycle is interrupted when an older man plops a metal lawn chair down beside their blanket. His Bud tallboy opens with a metallic scrape, and then the man takes a loud gulp.

Ariel’s eyes flip up to find his, and they share an implicit eye roll.

When he’d set out the blanket, it was just the two of them alone at the edge of the crowd. But the place has really filled up by now. It’s wall-to-wall picnic blankets. So they can’t move away from their neighbor, even if they weren’t too comfortable and lazy to take action.

When the guy lets out a loud belch, though, they both shake with laughter.

It’s all fun and games until Drew glances up to see him eyeing Ariel. Tonight she’s wearing a cute little red sundress and strappy sandals. Her bare legs are tanned from the summer sun, and he has the inappropriate urge to punch the guy just for checking her out.

He even has to clamp his jaw together to avoid saying something. Drew gives him a dirty look, just to make the guy aware that he’s being watched.

The geezer opens his yap and talks right over the music. “Nice night, yeah?”