We take Dax’s car to Bayfront Park on the lake. I love Bayfront because 90 percent of it is waterlocked, so it’s only accessible on foot.
We park the car near the marina, grab the basket from the trunk, and walk the small paved trail that cuts through the center.
Bayfront is a pretty chill and serene spot in the city. Aside from the trail, the park’s other features include a grassy area in the middle and a small strip of beach on the west side.
It’s a bit of a hike to get from the car to the sand, but since it’s a cooler August evening, we arrive and find the beach deserted. Though I’m not normally a fan of PDA （both watching and participating）， with the beach empty and Dax looking all fancy and handsome in his button-down, I’m more than willing to make an exception should the opportunity present itself.
“I brought a blanket.” Dax lifts the basket slightly. “Want to hang out here? Or there’s a gazebo just back there.” He points to the grassy area, where there’s a small, covered, modern-looking gazebo.
“Beach sounds great to me.”
We find a spot in the sand near some large rocks that provide shelter against the breeze that has picked up since we arrived. Dax lays out one of his mom’s quilts （I smile because I know he’s amassed quite a collection since she started taking classes at the community center）， then pulls a bottle of white wine, a French-style baguette, an assortment of olives, hummus, and a large wheel of Camembert from his basket.
“Did I do okay?” He holds up the cheese.
“You’ve found my weakness. There’s very little I won’t do for a soft cheese.”
The Dax in my timeline would not have let me get away with a comment like that. He’d demand clarifications with implied innuendo. We’d be talking about sex without talking about sex in that safe, third-party way that never implied that the two of us could actually have it.
Even with this Dax, I can see him holding back. It’s in the way he bites his lip and avoids my eyes as he asks, “Would you like some?”
I’m in a weird place. Because part of me misses that ease that comes with four years of friendship. How we can communicate entire thoughts with a glance or an eyebrow raise. But these last two weeks, I’ve seen a whole new side of Dax. I love him because I’ve always loved him, but I’m also falling for him at the exact same time—if that makes any sense.
“You seem to be thinking awfully hard about the cheese.” He holds out a small plate with two pieces of Camembert, some baguette, and what I hope is red pepper jelly.
“Just got lost in my head for a second. But everything is good. Everything is great, actually.”
He reaches into the basket and pulls out two wineglasses, offering one to me.
“And now we’re getting drunk.” I take the glass from his hand. “My kind of evening.”
Dax screws open the bottle and fills my glass. “Not quite drunk. I was going for buzzed enough to make some questionable decisions but sober enough to know we’re making them.”
He’s definitely talking about sex. I know I’ve been thinking about sex since he showed up this evening looking all sexy and adorable. I’ve for sure been thinking about sex since our hot little kitchen make-out, where I was both ready and willing to let him have his way on my countertop. However, as we sit here now, the thought hits me. Do I really want to have sex with Dax?
I’ve never been one to put a whole lot of meaningful weight into the act of sexual intercourse. This timeline’s Gemma seems to have also embraced this principle. However, unlike her, it’s been four whole years since I considered doing the deed with anyone other than Stuart. Still, my rules haven’t changed: be safe, be fully into it, but it doesn’t have to be some big meaningful gesture. Sex can be just sex.
But with Dax, it’s different. For one, it will mean something. The sex will be more than sex. And on top of that, if I do go back to my reality, I will never be able to forget that we did it. I won’t be able to unsee Dax’s penis.
Oh god, if we have sex, I’m going to see Dax’s penis.
“You are really thinking hard about something.” Dax looks at me, concerned.
Somehow I don’t think he wants to hear that I’m contemplating the future ramifications of seeing his dick.
“Those clouds.” I point to the darkening puffs of gray gathering out on the water. “They’re looking a little ominous.”
Dax follows my gaze and sighs. “I think you’re right. I was hoping they’d hold off for an hour, but it’s not looking good.”