“I just …” My words filter off into the air between us. I don’t know what to say to him. I honestly have no clue how to be around him, and it’s scary. My stupid heart races every time he looks at me, and my body responds to him in ways I’ve long since forgotten.
Colton doesn’t answer me; instead, he calls for the check, and soon enough, he’s paid the bill, and my hand is in his once more. The car is waiting when we exit the restaurant. He pulls open the door and allows me to slip inside. But when the driver glances at him, he doesn’t offer my address; instead, he asks for us to be taken to the park.
“Why are we going to the park?”
“We’re going for a walk,” he announces seriously. He doesn’t look my way, just slips his fingers through mine, and holds my hand. I inwardly do somersaults at the contact and admonish myself for being so insecure about the date. And I don’t deny it’s a date anymore because that’s exactly what it is.
“Thank you for dinner,” I tell him in a whisper. “It was delicious.”
This has him turning to regard me with a smile. “It was good to be with someone who’s confident enough to eat carbs in front of me,” he tells me earnestly.
“Who would ever turn down carbs?” I can’t stop the laugh that falls from my lips at the thought of saying no thank you to a pizza.
“You’d be surprised, love.” He winks at me but doesn’t offer any more information than that. We pull up to a parking spot near the entrance to Central Park, where a couple of the horse carriages stand. For a moment, I think we’re heading to one, but Colton bypasses them, and we do end up in the park along with a multitude of other couples and tourists.
Colton doesn’t let go of my hand as we stroll down the pathway. The night is warm, and I’m thankful I wore comfortable shoes. I didn’t expect this, but I’m enjoying just being with him.
“Tell me about your favorite place in the city?” His request is expressed with a smile, and he casts glances toward me as we come to a stop at a bench.
“The center of the park where the pond is situated. In the afternoons, you can sit and watch the toy boats float on the glassy surface,” I reply. It is one of the only places I can come to think. When I’m struggling with a decision or if something is bothering me, I can sit there for hours staring at the water. “What about you? Where was your favorite place in London?”
I glance at Colton. His face is stoic as if he’s right back there, but his hand is on mine, holding onto me. It’s intimate, more so than you’d expect it to be.
“I never really liked London. Never found a place where I could just be. It was always busy, teeming with tourists, business folk. I did, however, love going up to the Lake District, where I could get lost in the middle of nowhere. But I only ever went there in winter.”
“Why?”
“It was the only time I could escape people. Not many tourists up in the Lakes in winter.” He’s silent for a moment before he asks, “What is your favorite childhood memory?”
I have to think about it. There were never specific moments that stuck out. But I recall a birthday where I just didn’t let anything get to me. I was only twelve, and I just got one of the most thoughtful gifts I ever received. A butterfly notebook with sparkles on the front. It was more of a diary of sorts. But it was mine. New, not a hand-me-down.
“It was more of a gift than a moment, and it didn’t cost a lot of money. It wasn’t a designer pair of shoes or clothing item; it was a notebook.”
“A notebook? Is that where your love of writing came from?” My mouth falls open in shock at Colton, knowing that about me without me having to tell him.
I smile. “Yes.”
“I figured as much. A girl who loves her notebooks is a girl who loves words.” The corner of his mouth ticks upward, his eyes, even in the dark, sparkle as he looks at me.
“You’re very perceptive,” I declare honestly. “Nobody would pick that up from me just mentioning a gift I got when I was twelve.”
“I bet you still have that notebook.”
I laugh while nodding. “Yes, I do, actually.”
“I knew it.” He suddenly lifts his hand, along with mine, and places a kiss on my knuckles, causing heat to sear me from the inside out. Warmth blooms in my chest, along my cheeks, and trickles down toward my stomach. He’s looking at me like that again, and as much as I want to tell him to stop, I don’t because I find I like him doing that.