“I was just thinking that.”
“And you’re gorgeous without your war paint.”
“I was not thinking that.”
“You’re just beautiful, Calliope. I’ll take you any way I can get you.” With that, he winks and backs away from me. “Adam made breakfast.”
“I can smell that bacon.”
“Well, hurry up, or there won’t be any left.”
“You would dare steal bacon from a hung over woman?” I grip my chest as if I’m shocked and devastated, but he just laughs.
“It’s not my fault that you’re in a bad way this morning, sweetheart.”
“It’s your sisters’ fault, so it’s kind of your fault.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not following your logic. Did you have fun?”
“I did.” I nod and reach for a pair of denim capris and a blue T-shirt. “They’re all nice girls. We bonded over shoes.”
“I figured you would,” he says. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For hanging out with my sisters even though I know you were uncomfortable.”
“It was fun,” I repeat and walk away like it’s no big deal. Because it is no big deal. I’m not making it a big deal. So I had wine and shopped for shoes with his sisters. It’s not like we were picking out bridesmaids dresses or anything.
“I’m hungry,” he says rather than pressing the issue.
“Me too. Go ahead, I’m gonna brush my hair and be right there.”
Before I can turn away, he has be pressed back against the vanity, his hands planted on the countertop at my hips, and he’s kissing me like his life depends on it. Only his lips are touching me, but I’m on fire everywhere.
How does he do this to me every single time?
Finally, he pulls back, smiles, and turns to walk away without another word.
I need a minute to catch my breath and gather my wits. Holy shit, that man can kiss.
***
“I love this park.” I smile and lean my head back so I can breathe in the fall air. It’s not cold here, the way it gets farther north in Colorado, but I can feel a difference in the air. And although the city always has tourists, it seems quieter now that school has started back up and families have returned home.
“You’ve been here before?” Declan asks as he takes my hand in his, threading our fingers.
“Of course. Audubon Park is famous. My dad used to bring me here and we’d feed the ducks.”
“Coincidentally, I brought duck food with me,” he replies with a smile and leads me down the path that circles through the park. “Do you know much about the park?”
“I know it’s big and there are lots of oak trees,” I reply with a smile.
“Those are both true. Do you want a history lesson, or is this boring?”
“So not boring,” I reply sincerely. “Teach me, Obi Wan.”
He snorts and then looks up at the oaks and begins his story. “These trees are more than two hundred and fifty years old. The land was originally settled by Native Americans, and then eventually by the first mayor of New Orleans. His name was Etienne de Bore.”
“What was his name?” I ask, deliberately making him repeat it, just because I love the way the French rolls off his tongue.
“Etienne de Bore. Not only was he the first mayor, but he also founded the first granulated sugar plantation in the country.”
“So he was smart.”
“And rich,” Declan says, smiling down at me. “Then, in 1850, the land was donated to the city. However, the Civil War began, and it was used as a Confederate camp and a Union hospital.”
“Wow, both sides of the war on one site.”
He nods, then points out a branch for me to walk around. “The cool thing is, in 1866, it was the site where the Buffalo Soldiers were activated from. So there is a lot of history where we’re walking. After the turn of the century, the city put together a society to oversee it, and it eventually evolved into not only the park, but also a zoo, riding stables, sports fields, and other things too.”
“You really should pursue that tour guide career,” I say, impressed. “How do you know so much?”
“I love history. Especially Louisiana history. The music I love was born here, the people I come from were from here. I like knowing where I come from.”
“What about where you’re going?” I ask as he leads me to a bridge that arches over a lazy river full of ducks and swans. He digs in a bag slung over his shoulder and comes out with a half-eaten loaf of bread.
We’ve sent several pieces over the side of the bridge, and just when I think he’s not going to answer my question, he continues. “I’ve never been so concerned about where I’m going.”
“Really?”
He shakes his head. He continues to toss the bread, and I lean my back on the railing, watching him.
“I imagine that wherever it is I’m going, I’ll get there eventually.”
My eyebrows both climb into my hairline in surprise. “That easy?”
“Sure. Why does it have to be hard?”
I think back over the past ten years. “I guess all my adult life I’ve been worried about where I would end up, in what job, and who with. How I would get there.”
“And you’ve ended up right back where you started,” he says simply. “Not that you shouldn’t work hard, because I do, but where I’m going has never been a question for me.”