We continue our stroll toward Hyde Park, and the scenery opens up around us. The path winds between clusters of bare trees and patches of brittle grass, but the space is alive with people—couples meandering hand in hand, kids playing tag with flushed cheeks, dogs tugging on their leads.
“I love Hyde Park,” Millie sighs. “I used to come here to feed the ducks and geese every Sunday with my dad.”
“I’ve never been here before,” I admit, adjusting my grip on my cup.
Her eyes snap to mine. “You’re kidding. How long have you lived in London?”
“Eight years.”
“Stop it,” she says, shoving my arm. “How is that possible?”
I shrug, giving her a half-smile. “Do I look like a park guy? Besides, the paparazzi follow me everywhere. Parks aren’t that peaceful when there’s a lens pointed at your face.”
She releases a long breath. “Yup. I see them.”
I frown and glance around. “Where? I didn’t even realise they’d found us.” Which is alarming, because I can usually feel them before I see them. Either my paparazzi radar’s broken… or I’m just too focused on Millie to care.
“Over there,” she murmurs, nodding toward a fountain further ahead. “But we knew they’d be here. That’s why we came out in the first place, right?”
A surge of heat shoots through me. “Yes, of course,” I mutter. But the truth is, even if this wasn’t for show, I’d still want to be here. With her.
Millie offers me a faint smile and adjusts her scarf again. “Just ignore them. Should we walk around the lake?”
“Okay,” I say, falling into step beside her.
“How’s your ice cream?” she asks after a while, her voice soft and playful.
“Tasty.” I glance at her. “Is that your way of asking if you can try it?”
Her eyes glint with mischief. “Maybe.”
I chuckle and slow my steps, holding my cup toward her. She dips her spoon into it, her fingers brushing mine briefly, and takes a bite.
“Oh my gosh,” she moans. “It’s even better than mine. Why didn’t I pick this one?”
I laugh, delighted by her reaction. “Can I?”
She nods and extends her cup to me. I taste hers—strawberries and cream with a drizzle of chocolate sauce, sweet and tangy all at once.
“Not bad. But mine’s better,” I say with a smug grin.
“Yeah it is.”
We start walking again, the gravel of the pathway crunching under our shoes, and I glance at her just in time to see her stealing a spoonful from my cup.
“Hey!” I scold her playfully. “Thief.”
An older couple walking ahead of us glance back with matching reproachful scowls, clearly unimpressed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Millie says, feigning innocence.
But seconds later, she does it again.
This time I’m prepared. I catch her wrist and make her twirl. She stumbles slightly, and before I know it, she’s pressed against my chest, caught in a loose hold that feels suspiciously like an embrace. My breath catches, and I drop my guard for a second. She uses it against me. In the blink of an eye, she turns around and smears a cold streak of ice cream across my cheek.
She’s slightly out of breath as she steps back, her eyes glinting with an unspoken challenge.
I narrow mine and fight a smile. “I hope you can run fast.”
