Nightmare

Behind Schedule

I yawn and open my eyes, stretching. I groan and yawn again, stretching, and take in my surroundings.

Tall trees tower over us, casting a shadow on me and Rowan.

I feel light. Happy? Maybe.

I get up and sigh. I don't know what I'm feeling Happiness, love, and something else.

I'm also tired, so I curl up into a ball again and lie down next to him, facing him.

I stare at the grass on the ground, silver-and-blue and unusually long, like eight inches each. Still lying down, I pluck out three from the ground and begin braiding the blades of grass, which shimmers and glows ethereally in the light.

I finish the first and make two more braids with more grass, staring at the grass so hard it's like I'm trying to explode them.

Then I take all three braids and combine it all together, braiding tightly so it doesn't fall apart.

Left to center, right to center, left to center...

I finally finish and pluck two more blades of grass, using one on each side of the finished braided braid to tie it together, and now each side has a bow at the end.

I feel bad for the grass.

Then I hear a small chuckle. Rowan's looking at me with those green eyes, amused, so I silently offer him the grass thing.

He smiles and takes it, playing with it, and I lean into his touch.

"I love it," he breathes.

I smile, snuggling up against him, and his arm wraps around me.

"So, is that date still a thing or do we not need that anymore?" I grin, my voice muffled by his shoulder.

"Where do you want to go?" Rowan asks, his face lighting up.

"Um, Popeye's," I grin.

"I've never heard of it," he says. "Is it good?"

"Hell, yes, it's amazing."

"What's your favorite food?" he asks me.

"Fritos," I announce with utmost certainty. "What about you?"

"I like ice cream," he says, playing with my hair.

"Ooh, nice. Which flavor?" I like ice cream too.

"Cookie dough, mint chocolate chip, and vanilla," he says after a bit of thinking. "Now my turn, what's your favorite color?"

"Gray, blue, and black," I say. "Wait, I'm going to try to guess your favorite color. Is it... white?"

"Close," he says. "Really close."

"Gray?" I ask.

"Yep," he says.

"Nice," I say.