He abruptly removed his hand from my face.
“It wasn't my intention to prevent you from eating.” I looked down at the table directly in front of me. I had no idea how long that plate had been sitting there full of food. There were two scones and a tea cup full of a muted purple, flowery smelling tea.
“Is something the matter, darling? Don't you enjoy peaches?” I thought about this as I examined the food on the plate.
“I don't know...” I knew the little orange slices peeking out were peaches, but I didn't know, or couldn't remember if I liked them. The static slowly crescendoed into my ears again with these strange thoughts about what I should know, and what I didn't. It must have shown on my face, because I again felt his fingers on my chin. He raised my face away from the plate, so when I opened my eyes I could only look into his eyes. His steady gaze took the noise away.
“Why don't you try them?” With that he seated himself across from me, and I turned my attention to the plate once more. I picked up one of the scones, and broke off a small piece. It was warm in my hands. The bread was floured and crispy on the outside. Inside my mouth it became soft and had a honeyed, buttery taste. In the next bite I got some of the peach. It was almost firm and sweet. The bread made my mouth dry, so I then reached for the tea. I held it to my lips and smelled. It had a rich floral smell.
“It's jasmine tea; Loose leaf, of course. The smell is exquisite, don't you think?” I nodded my head slightly, unable to speak with his eyes upon mine. The tea was smooth and rich at just the right temperature. Hot enough to warm my stomach, but cool enough not to burn me.
I sat there, eating quietly for the remainder of the breakfast. He pointed out certain specimens of  flowers displaying themselves outside the closest panes of glass. I think he caught me looking beyond the closest bushes into the seemingly boundless garden.
“Would you care for a better look at those Agapanthuses.” Walking around the table, he disappeared behind me. My chair was moved away from the table, now containing only empty dishes. He then appeared by my side offering his arm.
“Shall we?”
The garden was full of bushes and vines, all with blue flowers in full bloom. We started a leisurely stroll along a meandering path through the ferns and arbors. We would walk by a tree or vine and he would gesture towards it and nonchalantly ramble off a long syllabled, two part name. He would then follow this with a trait or two he found favorable about it. The whole experience was jaded, though, by the light touch of my hand in the crook of his arm.  By the end of the walk I couldn't remember much of what he had tried to teach me about the blue garden. I could only think of the contact we held.
He stopped at the bottom of a set of marvelous cream colored steps laid directly into the ground. With a gentle grasp on the tips of my fingers, he led me up the short flight to the peak of the knoll. Atop this gentile hill there was a blue checkered blanket laid out on the ground surrounded by a small low lying plant with hundreds, maybe thousands of little purple flowers thriving in the shade of the surrounding trees. After we were seated I was able to get a closer look at the flowers. They had five round, fan shaped petals surrounding a magnificent star shaped center.
“How about some lunch?” He started to unpack cream porcelain dishes of the same sort from breakfast along with a bottle, out of a pale woven basket. A bowl of plain yogurt with a handful of pretty berries was set on the blanket for me. Then I watched as he carefully took a long handled spoon and squished some blueberries in the bottom of two glasses. After they were throughly pureed, he purposely popped the cork of the green bottle and slowly poured it into the glasses. The blue juice swirled around the bubbles of the off white concoction until it was a light blue.
“You cannot drink a Pérignon blanc de blanc with out a toast.” I looked at the glass he just handed me, and tried to understand what he meant. “Champagne, darling. It's champagne. In celebration of your special arrival.” I wasn't sure what was worth celebrating in my account. He was clearly the special one.
He reached out his flute to the space between us. “To spring!” He proclaimed, and looked at me expectantly. I closed the space between the glasses with a delicate clang.
“To spring.” My voice softly echoed.
When the fruit and yogurt was finished we started on a salad with cranberries, walnuts, and what he called pheasant, occasionally sipping at our champagne. He often asked me how everything tasted, bringing my attention back to him whenever my eyes wandered. I was fascinated by the scenery displayed beyond the pale white trees with the blue vines wrapped around their slender trunks.
“These six here are Betula papyrifera.” He gestured at the white barked trees surrounding our picnic area. “Asarina scandens has itself around their trunks.” He said this referring to the vine with the bell shaped blue flowers. I looked at the trees and vines observing their contrast in color, until I realized he forgot to mention the most interesting purple flowers covering the ground.
“What about these?” I asked asked interestedly.
“Vinca Minor.” The name came out of his mouth with distaste. “When they were planted, they were blue. It now runs rampant in the shade of my garden, and, to my distaste, turned all sorts of colors.”
“Vinca Minor?” He nodded finishing off his champagne. I plucked a bloom from it's skinny stem. “I think it's beautiful. Why do you hate it so much?” He looked at me with an unreadable expression for a couple seconds.
“It doesn't obey, like a good poppet should. It is a pest.” I tried to work out the meaning of that sentiment in my head. My static of thoughts slowly returned.
“Would you care for some more champagne?” He quickly refilled my glass before I could respond. We lounged there on the picnic blanket for a while as the sun moved itself across the clear blue sky. As the sun started to edge toward the horizon he stood purposely.
“My, how the time flies.” I was again struck with his perfection. Sometime after we had finished eating he had rolled up his cuffs to his elbow, after asking politely of course. The skin of his forearms  was such a lovely shade of cream. As if they had been untouched by the harsh winds of fall, or the scorching sun he spoke of earlier.
“Come, doll.” My thoughts were immediately scattered. “Let us retire for a while.” He was standing now, extending his hand towards me. I accepted his help off the ground, and took his offered arm once more. We descended down the staircase the way we came, leaving the picnic behind. I think we backtracked through the garden but, I wouldn't have been able to tell you the way, if I'd had a map. Every turn looked the same. The reoccurring fog that made it appearance in my brain every time he touched me was probably to blame. Everything was a blurry compared to the focus my mind placed on the fingers tucked into the crease of his elbow.
The sun sat lower in the sky, signaling evenings approach, as the house came slowly into view.