His shoulders drop as he relents. “Fine. Just to appease you.”
“Thank you,” I breathe as he shoots off a text. “So let’s just not even act like we know each other at all tomorrow, okay?”
“Fine,” he says with a smile. “But you’re the one making it weird. I was already going to pretend I don’t know you tomorrow.”
I let out a self-deprecating laugh as all of my confidence unravels in this man’s lap. I chew on my lip, trying not to smile. “You probably think I’m weird.”
“Yes.” His fingertips brush against my wrist. “But I also kind of like that about you.”
When he lets go of my wrist, the nerves on my skin long to have it back. He sips his drink and sets it down, the condensation dancing to the tablecloth, and I meet his eyes when he speaks again.
“JP stands for Jacob Preston. My last name is Chapman.”
I don’t know why, but I flush a little as if he revealed some intimate detail, not his full name. “I like all of your names.”
“What’s your middle name?”
“Marie. Pretty but basic,” I say with a small laugh.
“Julia Marie Waters,” he says, and each syllable makes me want to come undone. “I like all of your names too.”
We finish our meal chatting about life, books, and our favorite places to eat in Chicago. And it’s true what they say: when it’s right, it just happens. Uncontrollable chemistry blooms easily with each word we exchange. By the end of the night, with peppermints on our tongues and bourbon in our bellies, we leave the restaurant with smiles and burning chemistry between us.
“Want to walk around a bit?” he asks, and I smile.
It isn’t until this moment that I realize how much taller he is than me. Most of the time we’ve known each other we’ve been seated, and yet I could tell you how many freckles he has on his cheekbone, and how his dimples are symmetrical—a rare and completely beautiful birth defect. But it isn’t until now that I realize how far I have to tilt my head back to look at him.
“That sounds lovely.”
Even though I’m wearing heels and it’s already late after a long day of traveling, I don’t want the night to end just yet.
three
“TELL ME THE FUNNIESTthing a kindergartener ever said to you?” I ask as we make our way through the city. The spring air is crisp yet pleasant, and the streets are emptying the closer the clock gets to striking midnight.
His eyes light up and his smile widens, but he remains lost in his memory.
“Too many to choose from?” I cock an eyebrow, and his gaze flits to mine, then back to the brick road of Stewart Street.
“Yes,” he agrees, laughing a little to himself. “But this one time a kid told me I looked like his mom’s boyfriend.”
I smirk. “That’s not so bad.”
“It is when mom is married.”
My jaw practically hits the pavement.
“Listen, kids are the worst liars. I know way too much about everybody.” He chuckles to himself.
“Did you mention it to their mom...or dad?” I ask, wondering what the due diligence of a kindergarten teacher is.
He shrugs. “I let that one go. Usually, parents will come to me to clarify after they learn what their six-year-old told me at school. This one never did, though.”
“Gosh, I’m a therapist for children, and it takes me months to get them to open up half the time. Meanwhile, you’re getting the playground tea that could literally ruin families,” I comment as the wind sweeps my long brown hair in my face.
He lets out a breath of a laugh, and his footsteps slow as we get closer to Pike Place. An idea seems to have hit him, and myeyes scan the street littered with shops, restaurants, and quaint coffee shops. “What?”
“Want to get our fortune told?” he asks with a mischievous cock of his brow.
