“Seriously? You’ll begin where you began? What was that?” I shake my head in mock contempt. “And she wouldn’t even tell you the love of your life.”
“Complete horse shit,” he mutters.
We pass through the already-been-chewed gum on Post Alley and turn on Union toward the water. The Great Wheel is still lit in the night sky, and the streets are mostly empty, but there are still a few patrons at Waterfront Park.
“You first,” he says, nodding at me.
I unravel the yellow paper from the plastic egg and read as we walk toward a bench at the park.
“Only listen to chicken egg fortunes. Disregard all other fortune telling units,” I read.
I stop walking completely, flopping on a bench and let out a loud cackle.
“It does not say that!” JP exclaims, sitting down next to me.
I show him the slip of paper, and he reads it three times, unless he’s a slow reader, and if that’s the case, I’m being very judgmental toward a sweet, handsome kindergarten teacher.
“It says that,” he deadpans with a crumpled brow. I resist the urge to smooth out the crease on his forehead so I can see his 100-watt smile. God, this man is delectable.
“Do yours,” I suggest.
He pops open the egg, unravels the paper, and only looks at it for two seconds before crumbling the paper in his fist. I can’t tell if he’s about to laugh or if he’s genuinely angry.
“What’d it say?” I ask, holding out my hand. He drops the wadded-up paper into my palm.
“ERROR: fortune not found.” It isn’t funny, it’s just so stupid, and I’ve had enough bourbon doused with the right amount of fun to find the prank fortunes irresistibly hilarious. My stomach hurts from laughing.
JP laughs, too, but it’s soft. His gaze dances over my face and his green eyes sparkle in the streetlight.
“I want all my money back,” I say through my laughter.
“It was my money!” he responds, aghast, and I laugh harder as he shoves the crumpled-up fortunes in his pocket.
Finally, as my giggles subside, I wipe the happy tears from under my lashes and tell him, “I guess I owe you.”
His lips slide into a slow grin. “I guess you do.”
I stare into his eyes, letting myself get lost, wishing he’d kiss me, but also knowing I need to call it a night.
“I should call an Uber,” I say.
He nods once, respectfully. “Same.”
“I had a great time with you,” I confess.
He smiles.That smile.“I had the best time with you.”
I peel my eyes from his and order an Uber on my phone. “Walk me to the corner?” I ask, standing.
He stands and takes my hand in his. “Of course. I wouldn’t let you wait alone.”
The sidewalk is growing dewy with the chilly night air, and I love the soft patter our shoes make against it. We pause under the street light, our gaze growing more and more intense with each passing moment.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks, stepping closer to me. “And pretend I don’t know you?”
I nod, running my fingers down his arms and taking his hands in mine. We’ve known each other for twelve hours, and I’m becoming more and more certain he’s a figment of my imagination.
He swipes his thumbs over my wrists, gently coaxing me closer to him. I’m lost for a moment. Everything about him is consuming. His scent is intoxicating. His eyes are mesmerizing. And his smile is doing things to my body I wasn’t aware could happen without him actually touching me. I haven’t had nearly enough to drink tonight to blame it on the liquor. I wish I could, but I can’t. I can only blame the way he’s looking at me. The way he makes me laugh. The way his hands have gently found my waist and how it’s all familiar even though it’s never happened before. It makes me wonder about destiny and fate. And I wonder for a fleeting moment if soulmates are real.
