6. The Next Best Thing #2
Like the sixth one we’ve been hunting this afternoon. “It’s over there,” she says, pointing toward a green park bench with absolute certainty.
I gape at her. “Seriously? You already found it? And you said you’d never been geocaching.”
She gives me a saucy look. “Yes, I kept my secret geocaching skills hidden from you, Miles.”
“You totally did,” I reply as we trek along Tennessee Hollow Trail. She found the first cache in under five minutes—a trolley car keychain tucked above a stone in a low wall. Now, she’s hunting under a bench and pulls out a small toy car from a baggie.
“Look! I’ve always wanted a red sports car,” she quips, holding it up, victorious and deservedly so.
“You’re cramping my style,” I say, shaking my head in mock defeat.
She bumps her hip into mine. “Can’t help it if I’m better at this than you.”
I loop an arm around her waist and pull her close. She tilts her chin up, her lips inches from mine, waiting for a kiss.
But I stop short. “Not yet,” I say, savoring the moment.
“Why not?” she asks, her lips teasingly close, a playful challenge in her voice.
“I want to make you wait for it,” I say, enjoying the game.
She pouts. “You’re a tease.”
“I’m only a tease if I don’t follow through…later,” I add, brushing a finger along her jawline.
She sighs softly, her eyes flickering with desire. It takes all my willpower not to lean in. But discipline’s my middle name. I pull away, nodding toward the trail. “Next cache?”
“If you can handle more of my geocaching excellence,” she says.
“And I thought we were a team.”
“I guess I’m competitive,” she says with no remorse. But she has no idea how competitive I can be.
“I can handle it.”
Her eyes sparkle with the thrill of the challenge as we continue down a narrow path.
We’ve been out for a couple hours, and somehow, we haven’t talked about my job. Maybe because there’s so much else to talk about—the trails, the park, where we should look. “So, you’re doing Birdie’s photos?” I ask, breaking the comfortable silence.
“I am. She wants them at the coffee shop, high-kicking on the counter. I think I love her,” Leighton says, laughing as we walk along a small creek.
“That’s Birdie’s style for sure.”
“I can’t wait. It’s exciting to shoot different types of photos.”
“You do more than boudoir?” I ask.
She nods. “Well, I’ve only just started out.
I graduated from college last year,” she says.
“But I apprenticed while I studied, and over the past year, but I just returned to San Francisco a few months ago. I’ve done a few boudoir shoots and want to do more, but I do some sports, lifestyle, fashion, headshots—whatever feels right. And honestly, whatever pays the bills.”
It hits me—she’s a whole decade younger than my thirty-three. I sort of guessed that, but didn’t know it till now.
There’s no point in pretending we’re the same age. “I graduated more than a decade ago. A decade and a year.”
She laughs. “That’s specific.”
But that’s all she says, so I suppose she’d already figured out there are some years between us. “And you do sports photography too?” I ask, returning to that. Sure, Birdie said not to discuss my job, and that’s fine by me. But I don’t want to leave out details that might matter to her.
“I do,” she says. “I did that in college for the school paper—online of course—which is where I really learned to shoot.” Then she pauses, giving me a serious look. “But we don’t have to talk about work, Miles.”
And that’s clear—she doesn’t want to. “Fair enough,” I say, and I guess Birdie really does know best, so I’ll keep following her advice. And I should give credit where it’s due. “Confession time,” I say, glancing at Leighton who’s walking next to me.
“Oh, is it now?” she asks, clearly intrigued.
“Birdie said I should take you geocaching. I’m pretty sure she engineered this whole date. Wouldn’t surprise me if she’d called that model and asked him to cancel.”
Leighton smiles knowingly. “She asked me if I was single.”
I crack up. “She’s about as subtle as an anvil. And I’m going to seriously owe her.”
Her eyes lock with mine, glimmering with mischief. “You are.”
There’s that confidence that hooked me the other day—that flirty, bold side of Leighton.
It pairs beautifully with her more vulnerable side.
I reach for her hand, tug on it, and pull her close to me again, stopping her on the trail as trees canopy us, and birds flicker from branch to branch.
She lifts her chin, her gaze challenging.
I slide a finger along her bottom lip, and she bites the pad of it, just enough to send a charge through me.
“Soon, soon,” I whisper. “I swear I’ll kiss you soon.”
“So you say,” she says.
I graze my thumb along her jawline. “I will. I’m the guy who was going to keep coming back to the shop just to run into you.”
“So you’re about as subtle as an anvil too.”
Damn, she can keep me on my toes. “I like to think of it as determined. I had a plan to ask you out.”
“What was your plan?”
“I didn’t ask you that first day because you got a call.”
“My dad. I was having lunch with him that day.”
I smile. It’s nice that she’s close to her family. “I figured I’d keep showing up till I saw you again. Hell, I was going to show up the day of Birdie’s photo shoot if I had to.”
“Fine, fine. You’re determined.”
I take that as the compliment that it is.
Determination has brought me to where I am in life.
Grit, too, has powered me through a nearly career-ending ACL tear when I was with Vancouver, and given me a second chance with a new team after Vancouver said see you later.
So, yeah, determination is my strong suit.
“I’m not afraid to go after what I want,” I tell her, then nod to the path.
“Now, we’d better get moving because someone very much wants to be kissed. ”
She narrows her eyes at me as we resume our pace. “Tease.”
“And you like it.”