Aziraphale smiled back enigmatically. Truthfully, though, he had picked it because Anthony showed a preference. Their outing with Anakin, the Gala--he had picked a red each time.

I've been on a picnic or two before. But with another man? Then again, with the level of fearlessness and devil-may-care that Anthony confronted the prospect of being in love with Aziraphale, he was certainly open enough to the idea.

Anthony had no right, though. That walk would be Aziraphale's undoing. It already had been. He paused in the middle of uncorking the wine, and leaned against the table to watch as Anthony set up their blanket and brought the fire to light. It looked cozy, perhaps even a little seductive. The cold grays of the Stone Mill were painted in a warm glow, and the flickering flames cast amber onto Anthony's hair and face.

He was stunning. Aziraphale fumbled the corkscrew and blushed.

"Consider me duly impressed." He tore his eyes away from the vision that was Anthony looking like an invitation to dine. "If you'll take the basket over, I'll just get this open."