"I believe the lady ordered coffee," you call out, strolling up to the bench where she is just settling in, laying her books to the side. She's wearing a bright green and white, knee length skirt, which isn't unusual; she always has on an a-line skirt that demurely just covers her knees. Emily's influence, you assume, making you wonder how she dresses away from her grandmother. Today's selection is paired with a white tank and pale pink, elbow length cardigan, her Sabrina sling backs already kicked off, so she can feel the grass between her toes.
"I did," she grins in anticipation. "Though I have to admit, I'm not expecting much. I told you I haven't had a decent cup since we got to England. Makes me almost wish I drank tea. Or that I had some sort of great urge to visit Colombia," she laughs.
"I don't see you as the belle of Bogotá, but we'll see if my coffee making skills are up to snuff," you reply, opening the small picnic basket you have prepared, pulling out a thermos and a white ironstone cup and saucer.
"Well if the coffee is half as good as the service…" she replies with a slight note of sarcasm in her voice.
"I am nothing if not accommodating," you return with a wink, handing her the steaming cup of coffee. Actually, this is unusual for you. Normally the only thing that inspires you to do something like this is the anticipation of the inevitable reciprocation in the form of you getting inside the beneficiary's pants, or in Rory's case, under her skirt. But strangely, that hasn't really crossed your mind.
Not that you wouldn't like to experience the wonders of Rory Gilmore - the thought of her doing naughty things to you while looking at you with those huge, innocent blue eyes definitely has its appeal. However, the innocence you see in them keeps your baser thoughts at bay. You suspect she would ask more of you, expect more of you, than you're willing to give. You keep a wide berth from girls like Rory - it actually surprises you that you were drawn to her in the first place.
"There's also sugar and a bit of cream right here," you say, pulling the items out of the basket, setting them on the seat next to her. "Also, there are scones with cream and jam, sandwiches, and a bit of field greens, if you want a salad," you continue, pulling things out of the hamper.
"Oh my God, this is really good," she says, closing her eyes in a sort of orgasmic communion, as she tastes the coffee you gave her. You've met plenty of coffee addicts in your day, but never one never one who greeted a cup of coffee quite the way she just did. It seems to be some sort of religious experience.
"Hawaiian beans, from Kauai," you reply, glad to have made her happy.
"Well, it's almost as good as Luke's," she says after a few moments and a couple of more sips. "Which is a huge compliment, though you might not know it."
"Luke's?" you ask, completely confused.
"Luke's is a diner in Stars Hollow, where I'm from. It's about thirty miles west of Hartford. Luke runs the local diner and he has the absolute best coffee in the world," she grins at the thought.
The Stars Hollow reference tugs at something in your memory. You've known who she was from the moment she had told you her last name. Her mother's story is still whispered to young girls in Hartford society as a cautionary tale of what you didn't want to have happen to you, 'Lorelai Gilmore' having been a notorious rebel. Actually, you're not sure she was notorious twenty years ago, but she is a thing of legend now. A soft spoken, shy, well mannered, beautiful and intelligent young woman was not what you had ever expected to be the product of her notoriety.
"I don't think I've ever been through Stars Hollow," you admit.
"It's a tiny hamlet, not exactly a destination type of place, very quirky, but a wonderful place to grow up," she smiles. "You said you have scones?" She looks around with anticipation at the containers littering the bench.
"I do, just give me a second here," you reply, getting out a plate, opening the bakery box and pulling out a scone for her. "I have salad as well," you offer.
"Who is that for?" she asks, her voice dripping with scorn. "Are you a health nut?"
"I figured you might like some," you clarify. You've never met a girl who would turn down a salad, they all seem to think barely eating is an attractive quality, or a selling point. Though not actually eating something has never stopped any of your dates from ordering the most expensive items on any menu.
"A scone and some sandwiches will be fine," she smiles. "Do you have jam and cream too?"
"Right here." You reach over to grab a spoon and open the container holding the clotted cream that you had brought. "There are strawberry and raspberry jams."
"Yum," she says, splitting open the scone, and putting a healthy portion of strawberry jam on it and then topping that with a generous dollop of cream. "Oh my God, this is so good," she mumbles around the massive bite she took. "Napkin, napkin, napkin," she trills after she's swallowed, causing you to laugh and hand her a cotton napkin so she can wipe the cream off the tip of her nose and jam off her lips. You'd like to kiss them clean, but resist the urge.
"That's so good. I've wanted to stay for tea with Grandma just for the food, but the gossiping gives me a headache. You are a prince among men to give me the treats without the headaches. Did you say you have sandwiches as well?" she asks with a bat of her eyelashes.
"I do," you laugh, putting them on a plate. "Chicken salad, ham salad, egg salad, and cucumber and watercress."
"The egg salad and cucumber and watercress are for you, right? Just like the other green bits," she says with a wrinkle of her adorable nose.
"They're good, I promise," you reply, fixing yourself a plate.
"I'll take your word for it," she nods, popping a chicken salad triangle in her mouth. "Oh, that's good."
"Oh, and there's fruit, too," you offer, pulling the last bit of food out of the basket.
"Also for you," she laughs.
"Not a fan of fruits and vegetables, I take it?" you ask, pulling the other thermos out of the basket to pour a cup of tea.
"No. Well, occasionally fruit, but generally I tend to like stuff that's bad for you. I can't wait to get home and have a cheeseburger and fries," she grins, popping the last bit of her cream-and-jam-laden scone in her mouth. "Who's that for?" she asks after she swallows, staring dubiously at the cup of tea you poured.
"Me," you reply.
"You drink tea?" she questions with a raised brow.
"Are you questioning my manhood?" you laugh, because she clearly is.
"No comment," she grins, "though it might fall in the 'real men don't eat quiche' category."
"So what are your selections today?" you ask after a few minutes of watching her eagerly pack away more food than you've seen a female eat in some time, so transfixed that you even forget to eat. No female you know eats like her - most would consider it inappropriate or uncouth, not to mention the calories and carbs consumed being a huge no-no. Her obvious lack of caring just adds to her immense appeal.
"What?" she replies, clearly not getting where you had moved the conversation. "God, this really is wonderful," she says, licking her fingers.
"There are more scones," you offer. "Though I probably should have gotten more sandwiches. What are you reading today?" you clarify for her.
"Oh, Willa Cather's My Antonia and Ezra Pound. What about you?" she asks. "I really shouldn't eat another one - it would be so gluttonous, but I really do want to," she grins, her tongue sneaking out to touch her upper lip as she eyes the plate of scones in anticipation.
"I'm still in depression era Harlem," you return, not having finished Go Tell It On The Mountain yesterday. "If you want one, go ahead," you prompt, nudging the plate toward her.
"I haven't ever read that, though I've meant to for a long time. You'll have to tell me if you like it. I read Invisible Man the summer before my sophomore year of high school," she says, still eyeing the plate with two scones left on it.
"I've read Ellison, too, but this is totally different," you elaborate. "If it's about racial identity, it's racial identity through religious discovery, whereas Invisible Man is more racial identity through societal displacement."
"True," she nods. "Okay, I think I've decided to definitely have another scone, but I'm going to wait to let what I've already eaten settle a bit."
"Well then I'll let you get lost in the prairies of Nebraska," you nod back, pouring yourself another cup of tea and getting a few sandwiches a scone and some fruit before moving to sit under the tree.
You're surprised about forty-five minutes later when she really does pick up her second scone and puts just as generous helpings of jam and cream on it as she had the first one. She eats it with just as much enthusiasm as the first, continuing to read her book.
After another half hour she gets up and stretches before putting back on her shoes, and asking, "I'll see you tomorrow?" biting the corner of her bottom lip. There's a hopeful look in her eye, yet it's still unsure and cautious at the same time. But you don't plan on disappointing her.
"You will," you confirm with a smiling nod. "And I'll bring more sandwiches this time."
"Thank you for the coffee - it's the best I've had in a while," she says, turning to walk away with a small wave of her fingers. Her walk is just as lovely as the rest of her, you note. Unhurried, with a small swaying of her slightly rounded hips.
This unexpected delay has proven to be the perfect antidote to a crazy year and Honor's rude delay. Tomorrow's tea hour can't get here fast enough, you muse, before burying your head back in your book.
I think I scared Logan today. He looked at me like I'd grown another head while he was watching me eat. Of course he's never seen Mom eat, so he doesn't really know what a true champion eater looks like. There is something to be said for a man who can make that good of a cup of coffee, though. Mom's onto something there with Luke.
I think the thing I really enjoy the most is the companionship. Both of us manage to get lost in our own worlds, but you still sense the other person's presence there. The only way I can think of to describe it is comforting, though that seems strange, since I barely know him. I'm looking forward to seeing him tomorrow, though probably not as much as I am…
TBC