2007-10-09: Love You Like Lemonade


Ramon_icon.gif Desiree_icon.gif

Summary: It is Desiree's birthday. For once, her predictions come true in a good way.

Date It Happened: October 9th, 2007

Love You Like Lemonade

New York

October 9, 2007.

The mountain cabin sits near a crystal clear waterfall, with a glass encased porch which gives a beautiful view of all of it. Ramon can't cook and there's nothing anywhere near, but he bought a fancy steak dinner from a very high class restaurant, and a bottle of champagne, and expertly microwaved it. He set the table and lit the candles and seems to be bouncing anxiously from foot to foot, even without actually doing this, as he pulls out a chair for Dezi. He had insisted, while he did all this, that she take a glass of wine and just relax.

Hopefully, Ramon didn't microwave the champagne, too - but no, everything is perfect. So perfect, so beautiful, in fact, that Desiree has been taking it in with grateful awe. Ramon's nervous energy hasn't gone unnoticed; the warm smile she gives him as she sits down is one of many she's shone his way today to reassure. "Why thank you, good sir," she says with an exaggerated version of her own accent, which is a feat in and of itself to make more obvious.

Ramon grins and says, "You want more champagne?" He did not microwave champagne. He microwaved the steaks and baked potatos and side of steamed vegetables, and he warmed the bread in the broiler and buttered it. There's cake and ice cream in the fridge, similarly un-nuked. He pushes her chair in and hovers, picking up the champagne bottle.

Desiree seems to consider the small pool of champagne left in her glass before plucking its spot to be moved closer to the bottle. "Sure. A little'd be great. Mostly I jus' want you to sit down and stop your hoverin'." She means that in the best possible way! Smiling up at Ramon, she adds, "Everythin' jus' looks so lovely, darlin'. This is— it's all so nice."

Ramon pours the champagne and bends down to kiss the top of her head. "I just want— I mean— Happy Birthday." He settles down and starts the blessing, making the sign of the cross in the name of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit before offering his hands to Dezi. "Bless us Oh Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive through the bounty of Christ Our Lord, Amen."

A warm glow in her hazel eyes, Dezi's smile follows Ramon until he sits down, too. She squeezes his hands on the table and closes her eyes, running her thumbs over his larger fingers during the blessing. "Amen." After her eyes open, she doesn't let go of his hands right away.

He's okay with that. He squeezes hers, and rubs his thumb over the palm of her hand, growing almost hypnotized by the motion. He starts studying her hands, like he's trying to memorize them, a weird, tender, besotted expression stealing over his normally gruff, closed off face.

Desiree's head tilts to one side, and she leans over the table a little, studying Ramon - it's a peaceful study, intrigued, but there's a hint of expectancy in her gaze. Waiting for him to open his mouth. However, what she says outloud is, "You eat a bad appetizer?"

Ramon jumps. "What? No. I — yes, eat. Don't let it go cold." He gently withdraws his hands and loosens his tie. Then he takes off his tie. Dezi's not a woman who likes ties is she? He drapes it over the back of his chair and spreads his napkin in his lap and nearly knocks over his champagne glass. This he saves at the last minute. "What I mean to say is…You're like lemonade."

Desiree's hands however over her cutlery, but rather than begin her dinner, she's quite caught up in watching Ramon's uncharacteristically clumsy motions. Just when she finally touches her fork, she blinks owlishly. "L-lem— lemonade?" Staring. This is Dezi staring, uncomprehending. "A buncha sugar coverin' up somethin' sour?"

"No! Not like that. Like lemonaid on the back porch on a hot summer day…" Ramon's good eye twitches a few times. "Like…a soft pillow at the end of a long day…like…the perfect fajitas, that smell of perfect fajitas carried on the summer wind which says all your family's gonna be around you and laughing and loving you…"

Oh! Story time. Desiree's cheek falls into her hand - her fork is still in her clutches, so call it a miracle that she doesn't stab herself in the eye - and listens, a sideways smile on her lips. "…aw. Ramon." She blushes, looking down at the lovely meal in a bout of humbleness before her toothy grin appears and she looks back up. "You're bein' all poetic."

"It sounded better when I practiced it," Ramon mumbles, stabbing at his steak. "I should have wrote it down." He expels a breath and takes a bite of his steak. One might even swear he was blushing as he takes his champagne and downs it, as if it were a shot of tequila and not, say, something sophisticated like champagne.

Aha. She knew it. Desiree doesn't have to be psychic to know that Ramon practiced that. "No, no," she says with a good-natured laugh as she follows his lead on the meal, trying some vegetables, first. "It was beautiful," she says, matter-of-fact and sincere. "I like lemonade and fajitas and all that stuff. S'good. I'm glad I'm your … pillow." Too many metaphors going around. "Dinner's real good."

Ramon almost visibly facepalms. Then he grunts and goes back to being Manly. As such, he takes a fortifying bite of steak. He finishes it. He squares his shoulders. He gets out of his chair. He comes to kneel beside her and takes his hand. "Dezi," he rasps, "I'm in love with you. I can't say it any better than that. All of a sudden I can't imagine life without you. I want to know if you'll marry me."

There is zero surprise on the woman's features - not as Ramon gets up, not as he kneels, not as he says the pretty fantastic things that he says. Desiree doesn't try to feign any sort of surprise. Even so, her reaction is a fond one, calm and glowing. Setting her fork down with a little *tink*, she turns about in her seat to face Ramon. "I'd be a fool to say no," she says. "And," she starts to grin, "I ain't no fool, Mister Gomez."

Ramon grins and digs in his pocket for the ring box. He /drops it/. He scoops it up and opens it up, revealing a slim gold band with a pretty onyx stone on it, one that seems to reflect many colors in its surface, even though the stone is purely black. (Though he wasn't thinking of it when he bought it, it may even be something that she can eventually use to help with her power, come to think of it). He takes a deep breath and says, "I hope I got your size right. I got an onyx because—you seem more like a colors person to me than a pale person, and onyx holds all the colors even if it looks black. And it was more unique than a diamond, and so are you. But if you want a more traditional ring, I can make sure you get it." He kisses her hand and then slides the ring onto her finger.

"I love it just how it is," Desiree proclaims, beaming as the ring slides onto her finger. She holds her hand up to examine and admire it, and the onyx reflects numerous colours in the candlelight. "And, I love you jus' how you are." This is where she'd kiss Ramon, but he's on the ground, and she's too tall and it's awkward and…

This is what happens: taking his face in her hands so she can give him a proper kiss .5 seconds from now, Desiree slides out of her chair, onto her knees, more or less into his arms. The clamour of the dinnerware in her wake is only minimal. Ignore it!

Ramon does it ignore it. Food? What food? He kisses her back, quite madly, and pushes her down to the floor in a move that…probably will eventually result in some un-Catholic things happening unless she puts a stop to it. Hey. He's religious. Not dead.

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