“And here we haveStick Man Contemplates Existence,” he said, gesturing dramatically to a minimalist piece. “A poignant commentary on the futility of waiting in line for coffee.”
I laughed so hard I nearly tripped over my own feet. “Stick Man deserves better than that.”
“Oh, absolutely. Stick Man deserves a beignet.”
From there, we rented a pedal boat. Luke insisted on doing all the work at first until he quickly realized pedaling wasn’t as easy as it looked.
“You’re enjoying this too much.” He panted as I lounged back, my feet nowhere near the pedals.
“Maybe a little,” I teased, dipping my fingers into the cool water. “But hey, you’re the one who wanted to steer.”
By the time we made our way to the Café du Monde stand near the art museum, we were sweaty, a little sunburned, and laughing. We split an order of beignets, and powdered sugar stuck to both of us as the breeze scattered it like confetti.
“This is what heaven tastes like,” Luke said through a mouthful, his grin boyish and carefree.
“Powdered sugar and fried dough? Sounds about right.”
“You’ve got some right there.” Luke gestured vaguely at my face.
“Here?” I asked, swiping my cheek.
“No, the other side.”
I swiped again, and he grinned. “Still missed it.”
“You’re the worst.” I couldn’t stop laughing.
Before I could attempt another pass, Luke leaned in, his hand cupping my chin gently as his thumb brushed over my cheek. The moment felt electric, his touch sending a wave of warmth through me. His eyes met mine for the briefest second, something unspoken passing between us.
“There,” he said, his voice lower now, his thumb lingering a second longer than necessary. And then, he kissed me. Soft and sweet, his lips warm against mine. It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was enough to leave me tingling, my skin humming with the aftershocks. “Got it that time.”
After we ate, we wandered the paths around Big Lake, pausing now and then to admire the view. Luke bought a watercolor from a street artist, a painting of the iconic live oaks draped in Spanish moss.
“These trees remind me of you.” His voice was low, gravelly.
I tried to laugh it off. “What, because I’m old and creaky?”
“No.” He stepped closer, and I could see the warmth in his eyes. “Because you’re beautiful. And no matter how hard the wind blows, you stay rooted.”
My face flushed. We held hands, and everything felt easy and natural.
As the afternoon stretched on, we sprawled on a picnic blanket under one of the park’s massive live oaks. The air was warm, the light dappled through the leaves, and for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.
Well, the two of us, plus Tom and Hal leaning against a tree, arms stiff, clearly ready to tackle anybody who recognized Luke.
Luke leaned back on his elbows, watching the clouds drift by. “This,” he said, his voice quiet, “is perfect.”
I glanced over at him, taking in the peaceful expression on his face. “It really is.”
But perfect days don’t last forever.
On our way home, Tom turned onto Topher’s street, and my heart sank before the car even stopped. The driveway was now a frenzy of noise and movement. A cluster of paparazzi swarmed the gates like wasps, cameras raised, lenses glinting like weapons in the afternoon sun.
The car hadn’t even come to a complete stop before flashes lit up the windows.
I froze, every muscle in my body going tight. My chest clenched, like my lungs had forgot how to work. “Oh no.”
Luke let out a slow sigh, already reaching for the sunglasses on the dashboard. Tom drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as if it were a countdown, and Hal slid out of the car, his jaw tight, motioning for the photographers to back up.
