Chapter Thirty-Five Callum #2
It's a very brisk New England fall day, only a couple of days from November.
Thankfully, though, it's sunny, and there's not a cloud in the sky.
When Sophie asked me for a hint at the hotel about how to dress, I told her we would be outside, so she should dress warmly.
And if she gets too cold anyway, I'll always give her my thick jacket.
Also, any excuse to buy her a hot chocolate and snuggle her close to me is a good one.
Win/Win for me.
I wrap my arm around her waist as we walk to the ticket booth, tapping my phone against the reader before she can open her wallet. "Callum—"
"Nope."
"You planned this, I can—"
I murmur against her temple, "Be a good girl and let me spoil you? Yes, you can."
Her mouth snaps shut at that, and her cheeks flush before she huffs. I smile when I see the edges of her lips quirk into a smile.
We walk into the main entrance, passing kids in puffy jackets darting ahead of their tired-looking parents, strollers of giggling babies being wheeled down the winding paths, and the interesting scent of popcorn mixed with the smell of animals in the air. It's perfect.
"I haven't been to the zoo in years," Sophie sighs, glancing at the directory sign.
"I think the last time I was here was... when my dad was still alive," I say, and she looks up at me, her eyes soft. Smiling, I squeeze her hand in mine. "I'm glad I'm back here with you."
Sophie lifts onto her tiptoes and presses a kiss to my mouth, brief and warm, before tugging on my hand like a child too excited to wait. "Come on, I wanna see the penguins!"
Sophie's excitement grows with each exhibit, and I love seeing her like this—free of worries, of unnecessary guilt, of fear. She's just enjoying a fun day at the zoo, and that's all she has to do right now.
Since it's Saturday and the zoo has modified hours in the Fall and Winter, it quickly gets crowded, but it doesn't bother us—it just makes us slow down and take our time.
She giggles at the lemurs chomping grapes that look huge in their tiny hands.
She points out the sloths hanging upside down, with dreamy little faces and those small smiles.
We walk to the gorilla exhibit and see them lying about lazily.
Sophie coos at a little baby gorilla being breastfed by its mother.
My phone camera—which was once used to take photos of sunsets, or nature, or book recs for Jack and Oliver—is now being used exclusively to take pictures of my girl.
Between last night and today, my phone camera storage is almost full, and I have so many that I'm going to print out and frame.
The thought of one day hanging these in a house we share gives me goosebumps in the best way.
Finally, we reach the part I'm the most excited about for her, and when I hear her excited gasp, I have to resist puffing my chest in smug satisfaction.
"Callum!" Sophie laughs, pulling me over to the exhibit. "Otters!"
I bark out a laugh as she runs right up to the glass, right in between two families with smaller children who are squealing and giggling. The little brown otters are chaos and joy incarnate, twisting and tumbling into the water, ducking and chasing each other all around their habitat.
Immediately, I take out my phone and snap a couple of photos of Sophie laughing at them.
My otter's nose is practically pressed up against the glass as she watches them transfixed.
One otter swims over to her, slapping his little webbed paws against the glass before he does a little flip under the water.
He peeks back up at her like, 'Did you see that? !'
Sophie giggles and glances back at me, and the pure wonder on her face makes my heart stutter.
Walking up to her, I make sure I'm not blocking any of the kids' view—a bad side to being tall—and slide my arms around her waist from behind. Sophie automatically leans back into me and links our fingers together.
There are two otters a little further away, floating on their backs in the water, paws linked.
I lean down to whisper into her ear, voice low. "So we don't drift..."
"Never," Sophie swears, her voice quietly fierce before stretching up and pressing a kiss to my chin. We stay like that for a long moment, until the crowd shifts and we know our turn is up, time to make room for others to look at these silly little guys.
Later, we walk hand in hand out of the zoo, but not without stopping at the gift shop first.
A ceramic Christmas ornament, two otters with their paws linked.
...
We skip lunch since Sophie's not hungry and head to the museum right away.
Jane had managed to get us tickets to the Museum of Fine Arts through one of her coworkers, so we're able to breeze through the entrance without much waiting.
The warm museum is a welcome relief from the brisk wind, and Sophie's red nose and cheeks return to their normal color, and I feel a coil of tension leave my chest at that.
I know she's not fragile in the general sense—on the contrary, she's the strongest woman I've ever known—but I still watch her.
It's practically instinct now. I worry if she's feeling okay, if she's too tired, if she's feeling too cold.
If she tells me, I can fix it. I know I'm good at fixing things, and for Sophie, I'd move mountains.
Still, she catches me watching and shoots me that knowing look—equal parts fond and exasperated.
"I love you, otter," she mutters, tugging at my hand, "but stop fussing."
I kiss the back of her fingers. "Never."
Like the zoo, the place is a little crowded but not overwhelming. But it feels like we're in our own world. We wander hand in hand, taking our sweet old time. When we stop in front of the artwork, Sophie leans her head against my arm, and I look back and forth between the art and her expression.
The museum seems to cast a spell, not only on us but also on everyone around us.
There's a low hum throughout the museum, making it feel alive—soft laughter, sniffles, and low murmurs.
And I feel a sense of appreciation for the art I've never felt before; my art of choice has always been books—pages of words tied together in a certain way to evoke certain emotions and paint a picture of a story.
This is different, yet also the same, just colors tied together in stillness to capture a scene. I allow myself to turn my brain off, look at the art pieces—the finest one of all being the woman next to me—and just feel.
We stop in front of one of the museum's most popular paintings—Dance at Bougival.
The colors used are bright, vibrant, and beautiful. In the painting is a couple—a bearded man in a straw hat twirling a dark-haired woman in a dance. They're in a crowd of people, but everything seems to fade. The rest of the world bends for them, for their love. Everything else just fades.
I can relate, I think, as Sophie and I stand side by side, next to many other couples observing the painting.
Sophie lets out a quiet, dreamy sigh. "She's pretty."
"She is," I acknowledge, but lean down to murmur in her ear. "She's got nothing on you."
"Flatterer."
"Truth-teller," I counter, and she grins, burrowing deeper into my side.
"He reminds me of you. My big, bearded man."
"Should I get a hat like that?"
"Absolutely," her eyes light up, her tone completely serious.
When we leave the museum an hour later, I notice Sophie looking a little sleepy—her blinks are becoming longer, and her steps are a little slow.
"You hungry?" I ask her. "We could go out for dinner... or grab something to bring back to the hotel."
"That one," she murmurs, sleepily as I guide her to our waiting rideshare. We go to a nearby deli, picking up a couple of subs, chips, and drinks, and then walk the short distance back to The Salvatore.
It feels a little silly walking into this luxury hotel with our plastic bag of rather undignified food, but we don't even care; nothing can bring down the mood today.
"Go shower and warm up, baby," I tell her once we're back in the suite. "I'll set up our feast."
She grins and salutes me, disappearing into the bathroom while I pull the coffee table closer to the couch and lay out our spread. Two subs—turkey for her, Italian for me, macaroni salad, a big bag of kettle chips, and two still-warm chocolate chip cookies. A little indoor picnic with my girl.
I quickly change into comfortable clothes just as Sophie emerges from the bathroom, robe wrapped around her, and the silk wrap on her head. Her makeup, eyebrows, and eyelashes have all been removed, so all I can see is her beautiful, bare face.
I stop mid-movement, caught off guard for a second by how heartbreakingly beautiful she is.
When she catches me staring, her cheeks darken, but a grin curves her lips.
"You look hungry," she teases, removing her robe and baring herself to me while she grabs clothes from our suitcase.
My body instantly reacts once again as my dick twitches in my pants at the sight of her.
I swallow hard and pinch the bridge of my nose, knowing she needs food and rest, not me mauling her.
"If I have my way, you'll be dessert," I mutter low through gritted teeth, turning around to walk out of the room before I devour her on the bed.
She laughs, letting me know she heard me anyway.
When she emerges from the bedroom, she's comfy and cozy, swallowed up in her hoodie and sweatpants.
We eat our food, and I'm happy when I see Sophie eat half of her sandwich, putting the other half in the fridge to save it for later.
We share secret smiles, eat the mac salad right out of the plastic container, and I kiss away a smear of chocolate on her lips. It's perfect.
When we settle on the couch, Sophie burrows into my side, and we flip through the channels to find something to watch. Sophie's eyes light up when we find a show called Real Housewives. I've never seen it, but I think I've vaguely heard Tonya and Bailey talk about it as a comfort show.