First there was the wine bar.
And then there was the picnic with the pitted cherries.
And then, and then! Then there was the night that we made fruit tartlets, which we took, along with a bottle of champagne, to the rose garden down the road. In the gloamy twilight, we drank champagne and ate our wee fruit tartlets amongs the rose garden, in glorious bloom. It was lovely, and I was enchanted.
Possibly also drunk.
But in a nice golden, bubbly champagne sort of way.