"They are..." she whispered. "They are Cornflowers."

  "Are they?" I asked innocently. "I'm not a botanist. I just thought they were blue."

  She turned to look at me. Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears, but they were happy tears.

  "They grow in Sokovia," she said softly. "In the mountains. My grandmother used to dry them for tea."

  "Well," I said, walking over to a flat spot under a large oak tree in the middle of the blue sea. "Then it's fate. Come on. I brought sandwiches."

  We laid out the blanket. I unpacked the basket… turkey and brie sandwiches, fresh fruit, sparkling water and of course, a container of those honey cakes from last night.

  We ate surrounded by the blue. The wind rustled the grass, creating a soothing sound.

  "So," I said, lying back on the blanket and looking up at the leaves of the oak tree. "Philosophical question. If a cloud looks like a duck, is it the cloud's fault, or is it our brain projecting ducks onto the sky?"

  Wanda was sitting next to me, picking at a cluster of grapes. She looked down at me.

  "It is the brain," she said. "The cloud is just water vapor. It does not know what a duck is."

  "That's sad," I said. "Imagine being a cloud and not knowing about ducks. Ducks are hilarious."

  "You have very strange thoughts, Aryan," she said, smiling.

  "It's the burden of genius," I sighed. "My mind is a chaotic place. It's like a browser with too many tabs open."

  "And what are the tabs?"

  "One is constantly playing the Tetris theme song," I listed. "One is thinking about how weird it is that we drink milk from cows. Who was the first guy to do that? And why?"

  Wanda laughed. "He was probably very thirsty."

  "He was very brave," I corrected. "Or very confused."

  She lay down next to me. We stared up at the sky together, shoulder to shoulder.

  "That one," she said, pointing a slender finger at a fluffy cumulus cloud. "That one looks like... a toaster."

  "A toaster?" I squinted. "I see a turtle wearing a hat."

  "It is a toaster," she insisted. "See the slots?"

  "I see the hat," I argued. "It's a very dapper turtle."

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  "You are blind," she said comfortably.

  "I am a visionary," I retorted.

  We lay there for a long time, just breathing. The scent of the cornflowers surrounded us.

  "Aryan," she said softly.

  "Yeah?"

  "Thank you. For finding this."

  "I have a knack for finding things," I said, turning my head to look at her profile. "Sometimes, I get lucky."

  She turned her head. Our faces were inches apart.

  "Yes," she whispered, her gaze dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second. "Sometimes you do."

  The moment hung there.

  Kiss her, the audience screamed.

  Not yet, I told them. Let it bake.

  "I brought a frisbee," I blurted out, ruining the moment perfectly.

  Wanda blinked, then burst out laughing. "A frisbee? You brought me to a secret meadow to play... catch?"

  "It's not just catch, Wanda. It's an aerodynamic battle of wills," I corrected, pulling the neon yellow disc from the picnic basket like it was a legendary sword. "And I should warn you, I am dangerously good at it. I was the unofficial champion of the quad back in my university days. They called me 'The Disc O King.' Mostly because of my questionable footwork, but the title remains."

  Wanda stood up, brushing the grass from her jeans, a playful glint in her eyes that was far more intimidating than a battalion of Ultron sentries. "The Disc O King? Truly? I have faced down cosmic threats and literal gods, Aryan. I think I can handle a piece of plastic."

  "Famous last words," I grinned, stepping back and testing the wind with a wet finger, playing up the 'expert' persona for all it was worth. "The wind is coming from the north-west, the humidity is perfect for maximum lift... the conditions are primed for your humiliating defeat. Prepare to lose, Maximoff. And don't try to use those glowy red hands to cheat… this is a sanctioned sporting event."

  "I would never," she said, though the mischievous twitch of her lips told a completely different story. "Throw it, Disc O King. Let us see this 'peak performance'."

  [The Drive In]

  By the time evening rolled around, we were sun kissed and tired in the good way.

  "Phase Two of the Big Day," I announced as we got back into the car. "Dinner and a show."

  "We are going to a restaurant?" she asked, buckling up.

  "Better. We are going to the past. Or, the 1950s version of it."

  I drove us to the outskirts of Westview, where an old Drive In cinema was still operational. I had bought tickets online for a screening of Dirty Dancing.

  The lot was packed. Cars were lined up in rows, facing the giant white screen. The smell of popcorn and exhaust fumes filled the air.

  "This is..." Wanda looked around at the vintage neon sign. "Charming."

  "It's retro," I said, parking the car in a prime spot near the center. "It's how movies were meant to be seen. In a metal box with bad acoustics."

  I killed the engine but kept the battery on for the radio audio.

  "I'll go get the snacks," I said. "Popcorn? Nachos? A soda the size of a toddler?"

  "Popcorn," she said. "And maybe... those red ropes."

  "Twizzlers. Excellent choice."

  I went to the concession stand. When I came back, arms full of junk food, I noticed something.

  Two guys.

  They were leaning against a beat up Camaro parked two spots down from us. They were wearing leather jackets that looked cheap and they were staring.

  At Wanda.

  She was sitting in the passenger seat, the window rolled down to let the evening breeze in. She was looking at the screen, seemingly unaware.

  But the guys... they were leering. One of them pointed at her and said something to the other. They laughed. It was a greasy sound.

  I stopped. My grip on the popcorn bucket tightened until the cardboard creaked.

  Oh, hell no.

  I walked to the car, keeping my face calm. I got in.

  "Snacks secured," I announced, handing her the Twizzlers.

  "Thank you," she said, opening the package.

  I looked in the rearview mirror. The guys were still there. One of them started walking toward our car. He had a swagger that suggested he thought he was God's gift to women.

  I felt a dark rage pool in my stomach.

  "You seeing this? I really, really hate bullies. And I especially hate people who ruin my dates. Watch closely, this is how you handle the trash when you're the one actually writing the script."