Never before had a picnic seemed so fraught with possibilities, most of them disastrous. Alejandre could not shake the notion that something was going to go wrong, no matter how many times he checked and double-checked. The brownies whose task it was to assemble the picnic basket were tired of the sight of him, his endless questions and reminders. Did they have the apple wine chilled? Were there enough sweetmeats & fruit tarts for two? The berry tarts, mind, not the apple!
As the time to meet his Lady approached, he changed his shirt three times and polished his boots twice. He found the action soothing, but nothing could truly quell his excitement or his nerves. What would they talk about? Would she even come? Perhaps she'd change her mind... no, his lady would never be so cruel and besides, her word was her bond, everyone knew that! But what if she took ill...?
Alejandre paced the width of the ornate wicker gate, open to allow entry to the summer meadow, to and fro, fro and to, the basket he'd spent so much energy on safe atop the dry stone wall. To and fro....