Page 77 of Keepsakes and Kismet

She opens her mouth to speak, then closes it and smiles. “Do you want me to take your picture with the thermos?”

Suddenly realizing I’m rambling, I heave a sigh. “That’d be great.”

Peyton takes my picture—one normal and one goofy—and we send it to Ma, who’s delighted to see it “being put to good use.”

I reach for the picnic basket next to me. “Should we start with popcorn or charcuterie?”

She taps her chin a few times. “What if we added popcorn to the charcuterie?”

“I can make that happen.” I grin and lay out the wooden board I brought first, arranging the cheeses, fruits, and meats. Then, I start adding the popcorn.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Peyton chides, placing her hand on my wrist.

“What?”

“You can’t put the popcorn next to the salami. Then it’ll be salami-popcorn.”

I huff a laugh. “Noted.” Picking up the stray popcorn, I relocate it to the opposite end of the board.

“Not so fast. Now it’s too close to the fruit. What if it gets soggy from the juices?”

Maybe I should be annoyed, but then I look into her eyes and all I can think is that I’d put the popcorn on the moon if she asked.

“Why don’t you place it where you want it, Pey?”

“A wonderful idea,” she says, before taking the handful of popcorn and shoving it directly into her mouth.

I snort at her attempt to swallow the giant scoop of popcorn and think to myself, how did I get so lucky? Followed quickly by, do I need to give her the Heimlich maneuver?

A rogue piece of popcorn lands on my arm.

“Oops,” she mumbles through a mouthful of popcorn.

“No worries,” I say, picking up the piece and popping it in my mouth.

I hand her a bottle of water to wash it down. “Are you done chewing?”

“Yep.”

“Great. I’m going to kiss my girlfriend now.”

I give it a few seconds, enough time for her to stop me. But it feels as though we’ve made it past some of the initial fears, like enough trust has been built for her to carefully hand over the reins.

The curve of her full lips meets mine in a gentle press that gradually turns into more. I feel her chest relax against mine, becoming pliant, as if I’m melting her tension away with my mouth. I lick into⁠—

We snap apart at the sound of a giant roar.

“Holy shit!” Peyton yelps before realizing it’s just the MGM lion on the big screen. She drops her head into my neck.

My heart is racing. “Jesus, Pey. I lost years off my life.”

“Sorry.” She cringes. “I thought I was going to die an untimely death from a wild animal.”

I cup her jaw. “It wouldn’t be a bad way to die, kissing you.”

“That’s very sweet,” she says, pecking me on the underside of my chin, “but also very, very, wrong. Death by a rabid animal is a terrible way to die.”

A soft laugh falls out of me. “You’re right. The lion population in suburban Ohio is a huge problem.”