13
“Ovid? Is that you?”
“Yes. Yes, Helena. It is me.”
Ovid took a step forward and the last dwindling light shone through the leaves, highlighting his brilliant eyes. He was positioned behind a hedge of forest overgrowth. To my surprise, he still wasn’t wearing a shirt and his muscular torso and six-pack abs were, to say the least, a little distracting. If it wasn’t for the fact that I could see the top of his pants at his waist, I might have thought he was naked.
He continued, “What are you doing here?”
A little flustered by his presence, I said, “I’m loaning my sweat pants to Syrinx.”
“What?”
“She needs a change of clothes.”
“I mean, what are you doing here? In this forest, in this vineyard? Why are you here tonight?”
“Oh! Sip and Paint. I’m supposed to be at the Sip and Paint c
