I smile as he leads the old woman down the steps and steadies her on the ground before indulgently letting her hug him. Her arms don’t even fit around him.
Hilarious.
He’s laughing by the time I make my way off the bus.
My heart is an endangered species when I process what’s happening.
Roland.
Laughing.
Warm and light and actually nice.
He kisses the old woman’s cheek and squeezes her shoulder, then gently pulls away to rejoin me.
I cock my head as I look up at him, lacing my hands together behind my back and rocking on my heels.
“I think you have a fan—and a new crush.”
“Don’t even start. It’s my fault she tripped. I was doing the right thing,” he grumbles.
“I didn’t know you knew right and wrong, Roland Osprey.”
“I told you, don’t start.” But he’s still chuckling, and he shakes his head, offering me his arm. “Come on. They let you wander free if you don’t want the guided tour, and I’m not in the mood to be nannied. Besides, you’re so short that if I don’t hold on to you, I’ll lose you in the tall grass.”
Any little heart-skip over his chivalry vanishes in an annoyed glare I fling at him.
“Dick. I knew nice you wouldn’t last.”
Even so, I slip my hand into the crook of his arm. His muscle feels taut and warm and weathered under my palm as he leads me to the garden paths.
Eventually I stop asking what the hell we’re doing and enjoy the afternoon.
The gardens are otherworldly, a gorgeously manicured Eden dropped down in Texas.
Walking with him, I could forget time itself.
Forget that my job and my life are ruled by Twitter trends and industry scandals and ferocious competition to see who’ll be the first to grab traffic for the latest breaking news.
I never imagined myself as the kind of person who’d get caught up in that sort of thing. But now that I have, it’s hard to come off the adrenaline rush.
Until now.
Taking in the flowers, the lagoons, the adorable pathways step-by-step with a dark angel at my side.
Pausing to pull away from him and dash over to a sign detailing some rare flower I’ve never seen before.
Gasping as I startle a flock of butterflies. They swirl around us in delightful spirals.
Looking up at the sweet trills of birds and watching them hop from tree to tree, while hummingbirds dart around in jeweled bursts at the throats of flowers.
Today, this place is our very own paradise.
And every time I get too far away, he catches up to me, locking my arm in his.
So I won’t get lost, he says.
Of course.
Roland’s so quiet as we tour the gardens. But it’s a focused quiet, a peaceful quiet, like I can sense the slow pleasure he gets in calming down and enjoying a moment that doesn’t involve total depravity ready to be reported on.
The entire time, neither of us take out our phones. Not one picture or video.
We live our whole lives online.
This moment isn’t for Instagram.
This is for us.
I shouldn’t feel so close to him right now.
But it’s like our own secret—a stolen moment—and I know when we take our flight back to Chicago, I’ll be feeling refreshed. Almost cleansed of the weight hanging over me ever since I got involved in the Easterly Ribbon story.
Part of me wants to ask him about that, but I don’t dare ruin this.
Not now.
I don’t want to let go of the sweetness all around us. The delight of running through a sprinkler to cool my sun-kissed skin. The sound of his laugh as I flick droplets at him.
But all good things must end.
A voice pipes over the garden from a hidden speaker, calling our tour group back and warning us our bus leaves in half an hour.
I stop at a cluster of heavenly tulips, smiling at Roland.
“I wish I could stay here for a week,” I say sadly.
“And how would Just Vibing survive without you?” he whispers gently.
His lips have stayed curved in this almost-smile the entire time.
Hotness aside, he looks like someone else.
Possibly who Roland Osprey might have been if only he’d lived a life without the secrets that scarred him and set him on the villain track he’s glued to now.
His eyes linger on me as I step closer, touching his arm lightly.
I’m suddenly shy about feeling him again. My heart beats harder.
“Let’s head back. Your crush will be sad if you miss the bus,” I say.
“Will she?” The look he gives me is long and thoughtful before he snorts, looping his arm in mine and turning away. “I’d hate to disappoint the old gal. Her heart might not be able to take it.”
Yeah...it might not.
There’s time, so we take it slow as we make our way along the paths to the main buildings and the parking lot. But as we walk, he pauses, glancing at a stand of bursting white flowers.