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“Are we there yet?” Christine inquired softly as she walked blindly forward, her sweetheart clasping her right hand while keeping his arm firmly around her waist. She’d been blindfolded for some time now—ever since they’d left the opera about twenty minutes prior—and the fabric was beginning to make her skin itch, making her all the more eager to take it off.
“Not yet, my dear, but we nearly are,” Erik replied.
Christine could feel the warmth of his breath on her left ear, a sure sign that they were walking far too close together than what was considered proper and respectable. She found, however, that she did not care.
Erik had been planning this surprise for the better part of a week now, and the more he’d dropped little hints about it, the more Christine could tell that he was very excited for this little outing. It was for this reason that she went along with his antics, knowing that in his efforts to please her, it would make him happy too.
Truth be told, he didn’t need to do anything to make her happy; she was already happy just being around him. However, she could not deny the joy she felt whenever he found little ways to surprise her, whether it was a rose left in her dressing room, a darling piece of jewelry he’d seen and thought of her, or a meal that he’d taken countless hours to prepare. Yes, she enjoyed the these surprises very much, but the thing she truly enjoyed the most was getting to see the smile on her sweetheart’s face when he presented them to her.
“Here we are, my love,” Erik said a few minutes after her query, letting go of her and moving away, leaving her feeling cold from the absence of his touch. “Don’t move a muscle, I’ll be right back.”
“Wait, where are you going?” Christine asked, her brow creasing underneath the strip of fabric. “I thought you said we were here.”
“We are, but you must let the stagehand arrange the scene before the opera can begin,” she heard Erik reply with a laugh, his voice sounding a bit farther away.
Let the stagehand arrange the scene? Christine wondered. She could tell be the soft texture beneath the sole of her boot that they were somewhere grassy, and the sweet smell of sap that filled the air told her that they were near trees. Whatever was Erik’s nonsense about an opera? Surely, there was not to be any performance outside.
She heard him rustle around for a few moments more before he approached again and reached behind her head to deftly untie the blindfold and pull it away. “And thus, the curtain is drawn,” he said softly, tucking the strip of cloth away.
Christine opened her eyes to see a clearing encircled by trees, a picnic blanket and a basket sitting in the middle, not too far off from a small pond where she knew there to be fish. It was a spot she had been to before, not far from the park she would often visit to read or sketch. She couldn’t believe Erik had remembered it.
“Oh, Erik, a picnic!” she said with a smile, turning to look at her sweetheart and finding that he was grinning too—a genuine, wide, joyful grin. “I’ve been begging you to go on a picnic for ages! Whatever happened to disliking the outdoors?”
“I still dislike it. Insects are annoying, and dirt is disgusting, but I’ve chosen to overlook that this afternoon for the sake of your enjoyment,” Erik said with a bit of a laugh. He took her hand and led her over to the picnic blanket that he’d spread out, then helped her to sit.
Christine ran her hand over the material—which, she noted, seemed far too fine in quality to just be used as a picnic blanket—and shook her head fondly, her gaze returning to her sweetheart. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”
“I know,” Erik acknowledged, kneeling down beside her to open the picnic basket. “But I wanted to. You’ve been wanting a romantic little picnic for so long, and it’s not fair to you that it not happen just because I’m a stick in the mud and don’t like to be out in public.”
“I think you just don’t like to deny me things, because you’re so madly in love,” Christine teased, lifting a hand to brush a curl out of her face absentmindedly.
Erik gave her a warm smile as he observed the gentle action. “My love, I would personally deliver to you then moon and the stars if you asked it of me.” Reaching out, he caught her chin with the crook of his finger and leaned forward to press a soft kiss upon her lips. “Now, I do hope you’re hungry. I made your favorite tea sandwiches, and I even baked you some macarons.”
“You thought of everything,” Christine said with a soft chuckle, watching him set a plate of tea sandwiches on their blanket. He placed beside it a small tray of neatly-arranged fruit, some cut and arranged to look little flowers, some dipped in chocolate. Immediately, she reached for a chocolate-coated strawberry, smiling at the sweet flavor on her tongue as she sunk her teeth into the fruit.
“I’m simply a man who knows what his sweetheart likes. What can I say?” Erik chuckled quietly, passing her an empty plate for her food. Noticing a small bit of chocolate that had gotten smeared on corner of her mouth, he gently wiped it away with the pad of his thumb, then brought the thumb to his mouth and sucked the chocolate off it. “There’s one little surprise left, but I’ll save that one for later.”
The two of them partook of the rather delicious meal that Erik had prepared for them, making conversation the entire time. He made jokes, she laughed. She told stories, he listened. They discussed music and art and all of the usual things they often spoke of, sharing their opinions and playfully arguing when they found a point where they didn’t agree.
After an hour of so of nonsense such as this, Erik finished the last of his third sandwich, then wiped the crumbs from his hands. Without explanation as to what he was doing, he reached behind the picnic basket and opened what Christine now realized was a violin case. He pulled out the instrument as well as the bow, resting the lower bout under his chin.
Ah, so this is the surprise, Christine thought with a smile, reclining on the blanket so that she was propped on one elbow on her side.
Raising his bow, Erik began to play a piece that Christine knew well—so well that she could probably play it herself, despite not knowing how to play the violin. It was a piece her father had composed, one that he played frequently throughout her childhood.
She had just recently found the sheet music for the piece and had brought it to Erik for him to see, along with a few others. It brought tears to her eyes to hear it performed again after so long.
Christine closed her eyes and let the melody wash over her. The notes intertwined with the soft summer breeze that floated through the air, hugging her, completely enveloping her in the moment, time itself seeming to stop.
She could picture herself as a child, sitting on the floor of her childhood home in Sweden, her father in his chair with his violin, playing this melody. How Christine wished her father could be here now to hear Erik doing his composition such justice.
Erik followed the piece with a couple more of her father’s compositions, then a few of his own. Christine simply sat and listened, the notes like honey to her ear. It was a more perfect afternoon than she could have imagined, and she wanted to savor every single bliss-filled moment.