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Snuggling sounds like fun.
SNUGGLING
The long lowing of a cow breaks the silence. I turn toward the setting sun and look upon a group of cattle who graze near the fence-line some distance away.
“Do you think they know what we’re grilling?”
He laughs. “Let’s hope not. I don’t want them giving me the eye all night long.”
“Well, it looks wonderful. Smells amazing. And I can’t wait for our feature to begin. You’ll rewind to the beginning once it’s dark?”
“Absolutely.”
“I really love this place.”
“Do you?"
“Yes. Open sky. Rolling hills. I loved coming here as a kid. It always felt so relaxed compared to home.”
“It's definitely not full of people. I guarantee we're the only humans within fifty acres."
"Do you have something against people?"
There’s no sign of a tent. Other than the fire, the chairs, the generator, and screen it doesn’t look as if he intends to spend the night. And that's when I realize all the snow from the blizzard is gone.
Green grass waves in the evening breeze.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"The snow. What happened to it?"
"It melted." He shakes his head like I’ve said something crazy.
"That fast?"
"It was barely a dusting, city girl.”
A dusting? The snow was several inches thick, but then, there wasn’t much snow on the highway when I drove my uncle home from the hospital.
“Come, let’s sit.” Drake takes the seat closest to the fire. He turns the spit holding the skewers of meat. "Dinner will be done in a few." He fishes around in a bag next to the chair and brings out a bottle of wine. "You said you liked wine. Bert promises this is a good Merlot."
“No whiskey?”
“I figured if you were brave enough to try whiskey, I can try some of this fermented grape juice people rave about.” His eyes twinkle with mirth.
This man thinks of everything.
Paper plates, plastic wine glasses, and a roll of paper towels complete our tableware. We sit together, watching the sunset, and feast on steak, grilled onions, tomatoes, and peppers.
The symphony of crickets, birds, cicadas, the soulful lowing of the distant cows, and even the wind whispering in the trees lulls me into a state of deep relaxation.
Drake pours the wine, takes a sip from his cup, then screws his face up with distaste. “This stuff is foul.” He tosses the rest of his wine on the ground.
“Hey!” I shout, “Wine foul.”
“Yes, the wine is very foul.”
“No. I mean you wasted it. This is a fabulous merlot.”
