“I get all that from you.”
I look away before he can see how that lands. “I thought you’d pick that one for me.” I point to the sharp, flame-like sculpture. “All sharp edges.”
“That’s not how I see you.”
I swallow hard. “Your turn.”
He chooses immediately: a twisting cobalt bloom, edges catching the light like electricity.
“Bold,” I say.
He shrugs. “Loud.”
“Radiant,” I counter.
His gaze meets mine, and something quiet but intense hums between us. We don’t move for a few seconds. A child laughs somewhere across the conservatory, breaking the spell.
We keep walking.
In the tropical wing, condensation beads along the glass ceiling. The path narrows. Our shoulders brush with every step. He reaches for my hand, and my fingers lace through his. His thumb traces slow circles against my skin. I try to remember how to breathe.
We stop beneath a massive banana leaf arching overhead. Colored lights ripple across its surface. I lean my head lightly against his shoulder. He exhales and presses his cheek to my hair.
Later, we find a small bench near a koi pond. The fish glide beneath the surface like drifting embers. Tully pulls a paper bag from his tote and looks around like he’s not sure he’s supposed to have it inside.
I open it to see two still-warm hand pies from the bakery down the street. The bite I take is sweet and buttery and perfect.
A smear of filling lands on my thumb. I laugh.
“Hold on,” he murmurs.
He takes my thumb and wraps his lips around it, licking it clean. I take a sharp intake of breath, and my heart jackhammers. His touch lingers, neither of us letting go.
I tilt my face up toward his. We’re inches apart now. His eyes drop to my mouth, and the air shifts.
“Lola,” he whispers.
I close the distance. His mouth is warm and soft and so good. I slide my hand up into the back of his hair, and he makes a quiet sound that sends sparks down my spine. The kiss deepens, charged now, a slow unraveling. One hand clasps the curve of my jaw, and the other rests against my neck.
When we pull apart, we stay close, foreheads touching.
“Wow,” he breathes. “Every time we kiss, I think, ‘It can’t get any better than that’…and then it does.”
“You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“No. Never,” he says, grinning. “You’re the dangerous one.”
Laughter floats around us, and we both turn like we’re coming out of a fog.
“Hi, Tully!” one of the girls says.
“Hi, Tully,” the other two girls echo.
None of them act like they see me there, despite Tully’s hands still being on me.
“Could you sign my jersey?” The first girl pulls a Minnesota Golden Gophers jersey out and holds it up for Tully to see his name on it.
“Uh, I’m kind of in the middle of a date here,” he says, giving me an apologetic look.
