A short story.

The soft crunch of summer grass underfoot always gave me the most satisfying feeling. Hands out either side of me, palms to the sky, brushing the fields of sunflowers as the gentle buzzing of insects filled the warm air.

He sat atop the hill, back to me as he impersonated the sunflowers around me, chasing the light. His black hair tousled and messy.

The picnic blanket was adorned with a selection of foods, he brown eyes regarding me curiously as I approached. He always did that. I tucked my dress beneath me as I sampled and turned over the food in front of me. Fruits, nuts, sandwiches. Some of my favorite foods amongst a selection of others.

"You made this?" I asked playfully. His only answer was a shrug. I beamed as I started filling my plate, his features softening. He waited until I'd started eating before loading his own plate.

We sat in relative silence, comfortable silence. His ripped jeans and boots up on the picnic basket while he draped a hand over his eyes and basked in the warmth. The sound of children's laughter rolling over the hill. "This can't have been cheap," I mused, surveying the spread we'd just demolished. Cheese and meats - or what was left of them - sat atop a barely used wooden cutting board.

He only smiled, followed by a short huff of a laugh. "What?" I prodded, slightly indignant. "Nothing," he replied dryly, peeking out from beneath his arm. He laughed again and rested a hand on my knee. It made me smile, knowing I had absolutely just glared at him and he could only laugh. I loved that sound.

"So? Was it cheap?" I asked again, more directly this time. He just shook his head, grinning. "You never seem to talk much," I thought aloud. That caught his attention. Sitting upright and holding my gaze, searching my face for something. He finally smiled and laid back down, watching the clouds drift lazily by. "No, darling," he murmured affectionately, "words are cheap."