Chapter 15 #3
I smirk, eyes still closed. “Maybe. But if it was, it’s one we’ll definitely be making again.”
She hums softly, almost smug. “You think so?”
I open my eyes to look at her. “I know so. That didn’t feel like a one-time kind of kiss.”
“No,” she breathes, quieter now, the smile tugging at her lips again. “It didn’t.”
The walk back to Cece’s apartment is quiet.
The sun dips low over the city, casting everything in gold and rose.
The light catches in her hair, the curve of her cheek, the edge of her smile, and for a second, I swear the whole evening rearranges itself around her.
She looks like she belongs to this hour.
Neither of us says much, but it doesn’t feel like anything’s missing.
The silence hums between us, soft, charged, and easy.
As we near the edge of the park, a sound filters in.
Music. Faint at first, almost like it’s part of the wind.
Then it swells, rich and warm. Concerts in the Park, a sign reads.
A live band is playing beneath a canopy of string lights, casting the lawn in a soft golden glow.
The melody curls through the air, slow and dreamy, like it’s been waiting for us to stumble into it.
I’ve heard music like this before in my travels through this realm.
Slow Latin jazz, if I’m remembering correctly.
Whatever it is, it wraps around us, inviting and impossible to ignore.
On the grass, a few couples sway barefoot, arms wrapped around each other, the world outside this glowing pocket forgotten. Cece slows beside me, her gaze drifting to the music, then back to me. She tilts her head, the corners of her mouth pulling into something playful.
“You ever danced in a park before?” she asks, already slipping out of her shoes.
I raise a brow. “I haven’t danced in a very long time.”
She grins, pleased. “So . . . not a no.”
“I didn’t say yes either,” I counter.
It is a no. It has always been a no. Dancing in a park has never once appeared on the list of things I do for fun. Or would ever do for fun. But somehow, with her looking at me like that, I find myself wanting to keep this ridiculous, playful exchange going just a little longer.
“You didn’t say no.” She wiggles her brows and extends her hand toward me, palm up. “Come on, Luc. You’ve already pulled me out of the literal darkness. Don’t tell me you are afraid of a little slow dancing.”
I let out a choked laugh, shaking my head. “You’re surprisingly persistent.”
“It’s one of my many charms,” she says. “Right up there with my mind-blowing humility.”
I glance down at her hand, still outstretched, fingers waiting. Then back at her face. Eyes wide, lips curved, hope tucked just beneath the mischief.
I take her hand.
Her fingers close around mine like she’s done it countless times before. Then she leads me out onto the grass, where the music feels louder.
“Just follow me,” she murmurs, her voice low and teasing as she guides my hand to her waist. “It’s like walking. If walking involved less logic and more rhythm. And possibly a little soul.”
“I didn’t realize dancing was supposed to be philosophical.”
“Oh, everything’s philosophical if you do it right.”
She winks, that soft smile curving her mouth, the one she only lets slip when she thinks I’m no longer looking. But I am. I’m looking at all of her. And with my hand on her waist and her body close to mine, pretending I’m unaffected suddenly feels like a lie I’m bad at telling.
“You’re dangerous, you know that?” I say chidingly, moving with her as the music shifts.
She arches a brow. “Dangerous how?”
“Charming. Surprisingly smooth. And entirely too good at making me forget what I was supposed to be doing five minutes ago.”
She grins like she’s won something. “That sounds like your problem, not mine.”
“Yeah?” I pull her a little closer, my thumb brushing along her waist. “Feels like you’re making it your problem, too.”
She leans her head lightly against my chest. “Maybe I am,” she says. “But I’m not complaining.”
Trust me, neither am I.
She smiles, and it pulls one out of me without trying.
She’s so effortlessly beautiful in this light, dusky gold painting her skin, catching in her lashes.
Her steps are fluid, easy, coaxing me into the rhythm of the music.
I stumble a little at first, offbeat and unsure, but she doesn’t miss a step.
“Not terrible,” she says, pretending to be serious.
“That’s generous,” I mutter.
She grins. “Okay. Slightly below average. But you’re tall, so it evens out.”
I laugh, tension draining from my shoulders. I’m falling into her rhythm now. Into her. And damn, am I enjoying it.
“Are you flirting with me or insulting me?”
“Can’t it be both?” she says, then spins herself under my arm, landing closer than before. Close enough that I feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
The music slows. The melody thickens, deeper now, with a bass line that hums low like a heartbeat. She doesn’t step back. Her hand slides to my chest, resting directly over where my heart’s beating far too fast.
Her touch is light, but it echoes through me like a chord struck deep.
“What are you thinking?” she asks softly.
I look at her, letting my gaze linger. “You sure you want to know?”
She exhales a sound, half laugh, half warning. “My goodness, Luc. You don’t play fair.”
“I’m not trying to,” I say, my hand settling at her waist. And it’s the truth. “I don’t think playing fair is going to get me where I want to be.”
She tilts her head, eyes scanning mine. “And what will?”
I move in even closer, my voice dropping. “This. Having you look at me the way you’re looking at me right now.”
She swallows. “And how am I looking at you?”
“I think you already know,” I murmur.
We’re barely moving now. Just swaying in place to the slow pulse of the music. Her hand brushes my jaw. Mine moves to the small of her back, steady and sure.
“Luc . . .” she says, my name soft on her lips, like she’s still trying to figure out what this moment means.
I close my eyes, feeling the weight of her in my arms. “You don’t have to say anything,” I whisper.
We just hold each other there, in the middle of the park, surrounded by the scent of cut grass, cooling earth, and the faintest trace of her perfume. It smells of something wild. Something I want to chase.
After a long moment, she says, “Oh, you’re definitely trouble.”
I grin against her hair. “Good trouble or call-for-help trouble?”
She tilts her head just enough to look at me, a mischievous glint sparking in her eyes. “The trouble you don’t see coming until it’s already too late.”
I pull her just a little closer. “Well, in that case . . . you’re absolutely doomed.”