“Haven’t decided, or you have decided and you’re not going to tell me so I can’t come with you?”
“I like traveling alone.”
“Why’s that?”
When Willow didn’t answer, I didn’t press. Instead, I pulled out my phone and opened the camera. Willow immediately wrinkled her nose.
“Humor me, cupcake.”
“Why? So you can post it on your social media pages to make it seem like you’re winning?”
“How about this?” I said as I pulled a pinch of cotton candy from the bag and stuck it in my mouth. “I won’t post a picture of our faces until you do.”
“And what if I never do?”
“Then I won’t either. But in the interest of transparency, I’ll probably post something and tag you in it, so people know this is still happening. I’ve gotten a lot of questions. It’ll satisfy most of the curiosity.”
“I have too,” she admitted, then huffed. “Fine. I get to post faces. You can post . . . I don’t know. Our shoes or something.”
“Deal.” I opened the camera again and had it facing us for a selfie.
“But you said?—”
I tipped my head down to look at her. Our mouths were a breath apart. “I’m not posting it, Wills. I just want it for myself.”
Her body language relaxed, but her eyes were filled with speculation and mistrust.
“Come on. At least pretend you like me,” I said as I looked into the camera.
Willow’s lips were tense as she pursed them into a polite smile.
“Now who looks constipated?” I teased.
That made her laugh. I snapped the picture, then two more when she loosened up.
“I’ll text them to you. I think Step Shep needs a copy.”
Willow groaned. “Step Shep doesn’t need any more reasons to tell me this is a good idea.”
“You know, I think he and I will get along just fine.”
We were practically sitting on top of each other, so I took a chance and snapped another picture as I kissed her temple.
Willow grabbed the last lobster roll and took a bite. Mayonnaise and butter dotted the corners of her mouth.
“Now that’s sexy,” I joked, making her laugh.
I captured that picture too. It was slightly out of focus, but I loved it just the same. I had caught Willow grinning from ear to ear, half-eaten lobster roll in hand, as the sunbeams sliced down through the trees.
We finished eating, then stretched and cleared our things from under the tree.
Willow let me hold her hand again as we headed toward the art vendors. “I travel alone because I got so caught up in trying to find Mr. Right that I forgot about Miss Right-Now,” she said calmly as we stood in front of a row of paintings.
“You stopped living.”
“Something like that,” she said. “I was going out all the time, meeting new people, burning through every dating app outthere . . . and I was miserable. I was exhausted. I was depressed. So I quit.”
“And that’s why you left California?”
