Page 54 of A Really Bad Idea

“No, Dad. They make me gag.” He mock sticks his finger in his mouth.

Garret’s brows pucker as he places a hand back on his son’s shoulder. “Well then, we’ll just head over to Luke’s Lobster and grab lobster rolls.” His eyes meet mine in invitation. “They are the best in the city. Do you want one?”

Jordan leans his weight on one leg and rolls his head to the side, pulling his dad’s attention down to him. “Dad! I’m allergic to shellfish.”

It’s hard to miss Garret’s surprised grimace. “Since when?”

“Since forever.” Jordan kicks the pavement with the shake of his head.

Garret looks confused.

I offer some advice. “Maybe you should just stick to chicken fingers and fries at the zoo’s café. They’re my favorite,” I say to Jordan.

Garret nods in approval at the idea as he tilts his head at me. “Jordan and I are going to the movies tonight. We’d love for you to join us. Looks like I could use a woman’s touch.” His phrase sounds dirty, and I really hope it’s not intended to be.

“No, thank you,” I reply pleasantly. “You two enjoy your boys’ day.”

Garret sneers, annoyed, as he casts a glance toward Jordan. His mouth twists to the side. “I could get a sitter. Make it an adults-only night. Gallagher, you around to hang out at my place for a few hours while Meadow and I go out on the town?”

“My night’s already booked.” Christian’s possessive hand pulls me further into him.

Instead of being annoyed by such cavemanish behavior, I settle into him, finding I quite like being nestled into the crook of his arm.

Garret’s eyes flick toward Christian where they have a visual standoff as I bow down to speak to Jordan, who glances up with a shy smile as sweet as pie.

“It was very nice meeting you, Jordan. I hope you enjoy the rest of your weekend with your dad.”

“Here.” Garret slides a hand into his back pocket and takes out a business card. “Call me. We should catch up when you’re not”—he gives a side-eye glance to Christian—“occupied.”

I have many things I’d like to say, but Jordan is staring at the three of us with the wide eyes of a child, waiting for his father to take him to lunch. So, I say nothing at all.

I take the card, and as they walk away, I toss it in the nearby trash can.

“Can you believe that guy?” I ask as I turn to face Christian, who is no longer standing beside me. Upon further inspection, he’s not anywhere in eyeshot. I look around, down the path of trees, and through the throngs of tourists and guides. I don’t see him.

There’s a bird squawking in the distance, shouting, “Pretty bird,” over and over.

I know he didn’t go in that direction because he’s not a huge fan of birds, and I head toward a nearby enclave that has a picture window looking out to the snow leopards.

I step inside and have to adjust my eyes. It’s like a cave in here, cool and dark. Christian is standing by the glass, looking out at the leopards, one of which is licking a tiny cub. I take a spot next to him and watch at the animal licking the fur neck of the cub whose little eyes are closed as he enjoys his bath.

I giggle, and the sound echoes. It’s quiet in here. Too quiet.

I gaze up at Christian, who is standing strong with his arms crossed. There’s a tic to his jaw as he works over whatever he’s thinking about. I give him the silence he needs and wait for him to speak.

“When I was seventeen, I almost asked you on a date.”

My head swivels toward him. “Really?”

His eyes are trained forward. “I wanted to ask you to the winter formal.”

“Why didn’t you?” I ask.

“Garret Kent. Apparently, you had a thing for the douchebag lacrosse player.”

His observation is a bit skewed. I was a late bloomer in high school and was beside myself with excitement when Garret asked me to the dance. Then, he tried to steal a few bases without permission, and I hurled on his shoes.

“He tried to show me his stick.” My joke falls flat.