Almost.
But the truth is, Bishop is a control freak. She needs to manage and direct everything around her because she believes that’s the only way to keep people safe.
And I know that feeling. I understand it…and how dangerous it can be.
I give her a moment to collect herself, allowing silence to linger between us until I can’t bear to see her suffer alone anymore. Tentatively, I reach down and slide my hand into hers, squeezing it gently before I tug. “Let’s go.”
She releases a long, relieved-sounding breath at being given a reprieve and lets me lead her into the park.
It’s different at night.
Calmer.
Even more serene.
Without people picnicking, riding bikes, throwing Frisbees, rowing boats across the water, the beauty of the place in the quickly fading light takes center stage.
Which is exactly why I chose here.
Bishop needs some serenity. Some calm. A break from all the tension that she always carries.
We make our way toward Langles Bridge in silence as the sun continues to dip lower into the horizon, extending the long shadows of the massive trees.
I finally pause at a grassy area tucked behind one of the large old oaks.
Bishop glances around us. “Here?”
Nodding, I hold up the bag I pulled from my bike. “I brought us a picnic.”
A bark of laughter bubbles up from her chest, completely natural and unexpected, as if she’s releasing panic she’s been holding onto since she climbed onto my bike. “A picnic?”
I reach into the bag and pull out a checkered blanket. She watches me carefully as I set down the bag on the grass and spread out our seating area. “Go in there and pull everything out.”
Bishop pulls her bottom lip under her teeth, worrying it for a moment before she snags the bag and reaches inside it. She pulls out the bottle of Pinot Noir and raises a dark brow. “Wine?”
I grin as she goes into it again and comes out with a French baguette and a container of cubed cheese.
She laughs lightly, the sound so unusual from her that I genuinely take a moment to enjoy the ease of it. “You’re serious?”
Settling on the blanket, I cross my booted ankles and lean back on my hands to stare up at her. “As a heart attack.”
Bishop glances around the darkening park, then down at me. “Why?”
I pat the blanket beside me. “Because it looked like you needed a break.”
That brief second of unguardedness I got from her slips away instantly, replaced by her typical defensive look of mistrust. “I don’t.”
I keep my gaze locked on hers, hoping she won’t turn and run when I speak this truth. “You really, really do.” Holding out a hand, I curl my fingers in invitation. “Join me.”
The moment of hesitation is enough for me to hold my breath, but she eventually steps forward and slides her palm into mine, allowing me to tug her down.
She settles next to me on the blanket, but she doesn’t relax.
I’m starting to wonder if it’s even possible for her to anymore—or if she ever really did at any point in her life.
Her spine stays rigid, her body tense, as if she’s ready to bolt at any moment.
And she might be.
