Emma

When Bob had told you that he had a date planned for today, walking blindfolded through a field was not on your list of possibilities. Up until you caught Natasha and Bradley snickering as you climbed into Bob's passenger seat, you'd been expecting something simple. A dinner date, a visit to the arcade, a romantic walk on the beach, hell, an afternoon at the Hard Deck.

But the longer you tread through this grass, the more lost you become. Surely a picnic date wouldn't involve a blindfold, but the only other thing you can think of is... "Are we going to the lake?"

Bob's chuckle is the clearest thing you've heard since he led you out of the car. "Not quite," and despite not being able to see a damn thing, you can feel his eyes on you, "but I'm sure you'll be able to see it from where we'll be."

"Are you making me go hiking?"

His lips press to your cheek, fighting another laugh. "Nope."

All of a sudden, you're stopping. Bob's letting go of you, and all of a sudden, you're alone in this big, dark world. Teetering on your own two feet, unsure of what to do or where you are.

But then he's back. Reaching behind your head, untying the blindfold, and letting it fall from your eyes without another word.

"There you are," he murmurs, hands falling to your jaw, guiding you to meet his eye. Blue as the sky and twinkling with the same excitement they held when he covered your eyes in the Hard Deck parking lot. "Ready?"

You don't know if you are, but you're nodding your head anyways.

He turns his head to the left at that, gazing off at something you've yet to see. That big, dopey smile on his face has your curiosity piquing, turning to figure out what he's looking at.

It's...a massive basket?

Laying in the grass on its side, attached to a mass of blue and white checkered material. Familiar faces meander around it; Reuben and Mickey are lifting a portion of the material off the ground, exposing a massive hole that's gradually filling with air. Jake and Bradley are bickering about something regarding the basket, toying with something metal that doesn't seem to be responding to their efforts.

A hot air balloon.

"Who's flying..." but you don't get to finish your sentence because Bob grins at you, his cheeks pink.

"Remember when I told you I could fly things that aren't planes?" He chirps, fighting to speak through his smile.

"Bob, how does this work again?" Bradley calls out, and off goes Bobby, meticulously setting everyone back into the right order of how things are done. Diligent as he gets the balloon filled with air and off the ground.

His friends fall into place under his careful instruction, almost as if they've all done this before. Practiced before the real thing. It takes you a minute to notice them, but you spot Natasha and Javy lounging on a blanket not far away. Nursing drinks they've fished out of a cooler and enjoying the sight of five men fumbling with a giant balloon.

"They've done this four times so far," Nat hums when you're within earshot, "you would think they would have figured it out by now."

But they must recall some bit of what Bob has taught them because the next thing you know, you're clinging to Bob's side as the basket lifts off the ground for the first time. Eyes squeezed shut as if opening them will cause you to fall out. Can feel the way the balloon climbs higher and higher into the sky, the excited calls of Bob's friends drifting away until you can no longer hear them.

His arm tightens around you, bringing you into his soft, warm chest, the tip of his nose bumping into your forehead, "you're okay," he murmurs, "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

It still takes you a moment to get your eyes open. But when you do, you don't think you'll ever be able to close them again.

You can see everything.

The parking lot, the baseball park, the forest surrounding the field you lifted off from, and the big, blue ocean in the distance. So high in the air that even the cars on the road are nothing more than colorful dots. Everything so microscopic and far away that you have to squint to see them.

If you really focus, you think you can see Jake and Bradley's trucks loosely following the balloon. Ready to catch it and pack it away once you land.

"What do you think?" You can hardly hear Bob over your own thoughts. "Still scary?"

"So long as you don't let go of me," your voice wavers as you reach for the edge of the basket. Daring to cling to it and peer down at the land hidden below. All places you've been to more times than you can count but never realized how it could have looked from above. "Since when could you fly a balloon?"

Bob's first attempt at answering is covered up by the sound of the burner, sending heated air up into the balloon. "I had one too many a few years ago and thought it would be a good idea to sign up for classes," he's a little too ready to answer. Like he's been waiting on you to ask, "Come to find out, those classes are nonrefundable."

"Drunk Bobby sounds like a hell of a person to be around," you can't help but giggle. You've never seen him drunk, but oh, have you heard the tall tales of the things he used to get up to while under the influence.

His eyes roll, cheeks flaming with red. "Drunk Bobby makes bad decisions and leaves sober Bob to deal with the consequences."

"Is that why you quit drinking?" Is now a bad time to be asking him that?

"I wish," he shakes his head, can no longer meet your eye, "I quit drinking because I woke up in the tree outside my apartment building."

You open your mouth, but he's still talking.

"Twice."

"Twice?"

"I can't climb trees sober," he laughs at his own memory, glasses falling lower on his nose, "but come to find out, I'm great at it when I'm drunk."

A part of you wishes you could have been around to see it. To have your phone littered with pictures and videos of him stumbling around, doing all of the things he wouldn't normally do. Taking home stray cats, sleeping in trees, losing the soles to his shoes, and nothing else.

But a bigger part of you is just glad to have him. The sober one who wants nothing more than to watch movies on Friday nights and defines a "wild night" as going to Walmart at four in the morning.

"Well," leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek, the tiniest bit of stubble scratching at your lips; it's hard to believe that the last time he shaved was three days ago. "Tell drunk Bobby that I said thank you for signing up to take those classes."