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The park is a pocket of greenery cradled by the town’s brick facades. A cobbled path snakes through it, flanked by benches that have heard countless stories and felt the weight of many a heavy heart.
“Nice spot,” he observes, his voice soft, almost reverent in this slice of nature nestled between the pressing walls of civilization.
“Sometimes when the bar gets too much, I come here,” I confess, watching a pair of sparrows dart among the autumn-kissed leaves.
“Seems like a good place to clear your head.”
“Exactly.” Shyly, I look up at him. “Tell me one of your stories, Tex.”
“Alright.” He chuckles. “There was this time in Nevada, stark desert all around, right?”
I can picture it, Texas, a lone figure against the sprawling canvas of the American West, as untamed and restless as the land itself.
“Go on,” I urge, caught up in the imagery.
“Out of nowhere, this sandstorm kicks up. Visibility went to hell, and I’m thinking this might be it, you know? Then, just as quickly, the skies cleared, and there was this perfect sunset, painting the desert in golds and reds like fire. Felt like the world was reminding me how alive I am.”
“Sounds breathtaking.”
“Life’s full of those moments,” he says, glancing at me, “but they’re better when you have someone to share ‘em with.”
“Maybe I’ll get to see one with you,” I reply, feeling bold and daring under his gaze.
“Count on it, Jane,” he promises, and somehow, I believe him.
The world slows to a near standstill as Texas’s arms encircle me, the rough leather of his jacket pressing against my back. I lean into him, our bodies fitting together like missing pieces of the same puzzle.
“Look at that,” he murmurs, his breath a ghostly whisper dancing over my ear. His finger points toward the horizon, where the sun is making its lazy descent. “It’s like the sky is on fire.”
“Beautiful,” I say and it’s not just the sunset that has my heart fluttering—it’s this man, this moment, everything.
“Never gets old, does it?” He tightens his grip ever so slightly, grounding me.
“Never,” I agree, my voice barely above a hush.
We stay like that for an eternity that passes in mere minutes until the first star dares to twinkle in the deepening blue above us. It’s a signal, somehow, that time is moving again, urging us on from this perfect pause.
“Come on,” Texas says, gently guiding me down the hill. “Let’s head back before it gets too late.”
We walk hand in hand, the dying light casting long shadows across our path. As we approach the bar, the familiar sounds of laughter and clinking glasses greet us like an old friend. Pete is there, behind the counter, his eyes lighting up when he spots us.
“Evening, Janie, Tex,” he calls out, a knowing smile touching the edges of his lips.
“Hey, Pete,” I reply, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks.
Texas leads me over to a quiet corner table, and we sit, still close, still connected. Around us, the bar continues its nightly dance of drinks and dreams, but it feels distant, like background noise to the symphony playing in my chest.
“Today was...” I start, but words, for once, fail me.
“Special,” Texas finishes for me, his gaze holding mine with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine.
“More than that,” I admit. “I didn’t know days like this could exist, not for me.”
“Jane, you deserve all the days like this,” he says, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. “You deserve the world.”
I want to believe him, to throw caution to the wind and ride off into the sunset like the heroines in those stories I used to read. But life’s taught me that fairy tales are dangerous. Still, here with Texas, I feel like maybe, just maybe, I could allow myself a sliver of that dream.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
