It was a beautiful day. The clouds were puffy, the sky was blue, the sun was warm, the breeze was light, and she was walking with Red.
He had called and asked her to meet him here, at some local park that she'd never been to, to enjoy the weather and discuss the next blacklister. They had done both of those things and now they were just walking, following the path, making circuits around a large, oblong grassy area where families were stretched out in the sun, children playing and laughing, dogs barking and running.
Seeing families and children like this always give Liz a pang of sadness somewhere deep inside her, as much as she tried to ignore it. She always smiled sadly and looked away, missing Sam and the child she almost adopted with Tom.
But Liz does that when she's alone and right now Red is here and somehow that makes it easier. Instead of looking away and wallowing in her loneliness, she can look away and pay attention to Red instead. Red, in all his complexity, is larger than life and eccentric to the nth degree, an endless mystery. To observe him, even silently, is such a treat for her.
Even now, just walking slowly beside her, with his cream suit jacket draped over his arm, his fedora tipped low, and his amber sunglasses hiding his expressive, green eyes, Liz is enamored.
As she stares, Red must sense her gaze, because he turns to look at her and smiles softly. In that moment, she has an odd urge to loop her arm through his as they walk. Before she can act however, something bright and blue rolls into their path. Red stops the object instinctively with his foot and then lifts it to see what it is. A child's ball. And said child is racing towards them, waving.
"That's mine! Sorry, mister."
The boy is only about eight or so and Red chuckles, picking the ball up.
"That's quite all right, young man. Here, I'll throw it to you. Go long!"
The boy laughs, delighted, as Red throws an impressive overhand pass. The boy takes off, yelling, "Thank you!" as he goes. Liz sees two people who must be his parents wave from a beach blanket under a tree. She waves back at them and turns to look at Red again, grinning. He is so good with children. She's not sure why this surprises her. Red's charm works on any age and species of creature, as she's been witness to many times. No one is immune. Including her.
But Red doesn't need to know that. Not yet.
They continue walking by unspoken agreement, passing a young couple in fold-out chairs eating hot dogs from a nearby vendor. The man polishes off his hot dog and reaches for a bottle of champagne. Liz wonders absentmindedly what they're celebrating, if anything in particular at all. He pops the cork and the champagne fizzes over onto his lap. He yelps and jumps up, holding the bottle away from himself as it continues to overflow, while the woman next to him laughs at his expense.
Liz chuckles softly under her breath as they pass them.
"Something funny, Lizzie?" Red asks idly.
"Nothing much," she answers. "I just don't know how you can take food to a place like this and not expect some sort of major mishap."
"Well, sometimes the mishap is what makes the meal enjoyable," Red muses, looking back at the couple, now giggling and smiling and clinking their full champagne glasses together. "I, for one, never say no to a picnic."
Liz smirks.
"Why am I not surprised?" she teases.
Red, delighted with her teasing, puts a hand to his chest, pretending to be affronted.
"And what is wrong with picnics, may I ask?" Red demands.
"I just don't care for them," Liz shrugs. "They just never seem to turn out well."
"Well perhaps you've only ever experienced bad picnics."
"Perhaps. I've only ever been on one. With Tom."
"One?" Red gasped. "With only one under your belt, that's hardly a fair assessment. How bad could that one picnic have been?"
"Well, first of all, Tom packed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and warm beer in thermoses, thinking, for some reason, that was acceptable food for a 'romantic picnic', as he called it."
"Well, yes, horrific food choices, to be sure, but-"
"And he forgot a blanket. So we were overrun with ants."
"Rookie mistake, obviously. At least-"
"And he didn't check the weather. So, naturally, it started to rain."
"Ah."
Liz smiled grimly. "Do I get any sympathy now?"
Red grimaced back at her. "Yes, I do believe so."
Liz nodded, lightly bumping his arm as they walked, not wanting him to think she was upset by talking about Tom. They were divorced and he was gone. It was over now.
He bumped her back, presumably receiving the message. How odd, that they could communicate without words or looks. Just bumps.
"I still think you should keep an open mind though. Picnics aren't all bad. Especially if you go with the right person."
"Oh? You know someone?"
"Why, yes. I, myself, am quite a seasoned picnicker, Lizzie." he said proudly, puffing his chest out a little.
Liz laughed. "And how would you go about preparing a romantic picnic, Red? I'm sure you would be the type to bring oysters and caviar and red wine and tiramisu, wouldn't you?"
"Nonsense, Lizzie," sniffed Red. "I'm nothing if not practical. And food like that has a time and a place. Certainly not a picnic."
"Well, what would you pack then?"
"Hmmm. Something portable but still sophisticated. Perhaps crab cakes and baked pita chips. With a complimentary white wine, of course. And a rich chocolate cake."
Liz has to admit, that sounds delicious. When was the last time she'd eaten, anyway?
Red gently touches her arm, steering them to a bench off to the side of the path. Red drapes his jacket over the back of the bench and they sit down. He stretches his arm out on the back behind Liz, the very picture of relaxed ease.
Liz tries not to lean back against his arm too heavily. Even though it is really quite comfortable, resting right behind her shoulders like that. But he doesn't need to know that. Not yet.
"And of course, the best time for a picnic is at night." Red picks up the discussion as if there hasn't been a break.
"At night?" Liz repeats, surprised.
"Of course, Lizzie. A picnic is most romantic when you can see the stars."
Liz turns her head to look at him, finding his face closer than she expects it.
"And it also depends on the woman, of course." He says, quieter now.
"Oh yes?" Liz whispers back.
"Yes. Everything you plan for a romantic picnic must be built around the woman. To make her feel beautiful. Wanted. Special."
As he says this last word, Red brings a hand up to ghost over her hair, tucking a strand gently behind her ear.
Liz shivers, unnerved and pleased at the same time.
Her gaze flits down to his lips.
His tongue flicks out to wet them.
Things are suspended for a moment, anticipation and tension in the air, as it so often is with them.
But Liz isn't ready. Not yet.
And Red is patient.
So they move on.
"Well." Liz says, breaking the silence, "Now I know who to go to as the authority on picnic decorum."
Red blinks, leans back, relaxes, understands the moment is over.
"Yes, you certainly do." He says, mockingly stern, with a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Liz rolls her eyes good-naturedly.
"Well," she sighs, "it's high time for me to be back at the Post Office."
She stands while Red remains seated, watching her. She takes once last look around the park, at the happy couple, the boy with the blue ball.
"I'll be in touch about number 82," she says to Red in parting and he nods.
She starts to walk in the direction of her parked car, leaving Red on the bench.
"And who knows, Red?" She calls over her shoulder, "Maybe you'll take me on a picnic sometime."
And maybe she sways her hips a little more than normal as she walks away. Maybe she does it because she knows he's looking. Maybe. But he doesn't need to know that. Not yet.
It really is a beautiful day.