have it spread out as neatly as the uneven ground will allow, Mica wastes no time claiming one corner of it.
“Go ahead, and make yourself comfortable, Mica,” Iris quips. The dog faces her, panting softly, but, I swear, it looks like he’s grinning.
“You can even make the dog laugh,” I tease.
“I told you. He laughs at all my jokes.” She hands me a plastic container. “I hope you like hummus.”
“I do,” I say, taking it from her. I peel open the container to find a hearty sandwich cut on the diagonal. The bread looks artisanal. The cross section reveals a layer of hummus, red pepper, Greek olives, and sprouts.
“Where did you get this?” I ask. She didn’t have time to go to a deli this morning, and we didn’t finish our lessons until almost nine last night.
“I made it this morning,” she says, grinning.
“It looks great.” I take a bite, and flavors flood my mouth. “Mmm. Is that feta?”
Her smile grows. “Yeah, I took a chance you’d be okay with it. But you put olives and cheese on your board, so I figured I was safe.”
“I’ll eat pretty much anything, and this is really good,” I say, taking another bite.
She opens her container, but there’s no sandwich inside. Just a dollop of hummus sprinkled with feta and next to a stack of sliced vegetables.
I raise a brow. “No bread?”
Iris makes a face. “Too many carbs.”
She already has somebody in her life who hassles her about food, so even though I want to point out that we’ve been hiking for hours, I don’t. At least she’s eating.
And as long as she’s okay, I don’t want her to have to worry about anything. Not while she’s with me.
And I just want to know her.
“So you don’t like Cajun music,” I say, pulling the topic from the air.
Her eyes widen as she bites into a cucumber topped with hummus. “I never said that,” she hedges.
My chuckle is low and wicked. “You don’t have to,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s okay. It’s not for everyone.”
She blows out a relieved breath. “Good. Some people get so protective about their music.”
I shrug. “You could say I’m protective about anything that keeps the Cajun culture and Cajun French alive,” I say because this is who I am. And as much as I want to know her, I also would like her to know me. “But that’s about preservation. Not preference. What kind of music do you prefer?”
“Something with a soul.” She munches a celery stick. “I think I wore out my air pods on Billie Eilish’s When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go? But it also depends on what I’m doing,” she says, looking thoughtful. “If I’m in the gym, Ramon usually loads our playlist with Lizzo and Cardi B. Anything to make the time go by faster.”
“You work out a lot?” It’s a stupid question, considering the kind of shape she’s in.
“Yeah,” and then she gives me a slow, obvious once-over, “so do you.”
I try to arm-wrestle my smile, but it’s winning. And, damn. I’m blushing too. I can’t remember the last time a woman made me blush. “I lift at the gym at school sometimes, but I mostly keep busy on my landlady’s property.”
“Doing what?” She’s seen the blush. That’s obvious by her smile. She’s eating it up.
Oh man, I love having her eyes on me. My skin becomes volcanic.
“Mowing. Clearing fallen branches. Splitting wood. Patching leaks in the roofs of her barns and sheds. That sort of thing.”
“And then there’s dancing,” she says with a grin.
“Then there’s dancing.”
“So, basically, you’re always exercising.”
I chuckle. “Hardly. I think the thing I do most often is grade.”
I’ve killed the sandwich. I deliberate for about two seconds and then stretch out on the blanket and tuck my hands behind my head. We have time before we need to head back. I want to linger.
“Want some dessert?” Iris asks, reaching for her pack.
I pinch my brows together. “You brought dessert?”
Her smile is playful. “It’s really fancy. I worked hard on it.” I know she’s teasing even before she pulls two peaches from inside the pack. She leans forward to hand me one. “They’re from somewhere around here called Ruston.”
“Ruston peaches are the best.” I take it from her and test the fruit with a gentle squeeze. It gives just enough so I know it’s ripe, and then I take a bite. Juice runs down my lips, and I have to prop myself up before it makes