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Ah, I know where I can go.
"Goodbye?" he asks as I start to head for it.
"Alice. Haven't seen that statue in centuries."
He follows along, frowning.
Maybe it was rude, me just walking off without so much as a 'come join', but him 'forgetting' about what we talked about wasn't exactly the epitome of politeness, either. Even if my heart is still offbeat from our almost-kiss.
"So," he says, as he walks alongside me. "How are things with you?"
"Things being my life or things being the case?" I ask lightly.
His scowl deepens. Goddamnit, the man is even hotter when he's pissed. Fuck me. "You."
"I'm fine. Just didn't sleep great last night."
"Yeah, me neither." He says it with a swinging gaze my way that indicates I'm to blame.
Another flicker of oppositions in me: arousal and annoyance. Arousal that I've gotten into his head enough to have him losing sleep over it. Annoyance that he actually expects me to feel bad over it. This whole thing has been his train - if he doesn't like where it's heading, then tough.
I give my head a little shake. Enough obsessing over the man.
I reorient my gaze to my surroundings, forcing myself to really take them in. The trees are in their full summery splendor. We're walking under a near-ceiling of rustling lime leaves that's chittering with life: fat grey squirrels, teeny chipmunks - there's even a blue jay eyeing us with a tilted head. Lilacs as tall as basketball nets waft their perfume all over us.
I inhale, can't quite stop an oncoming smile.
Ah yes, here we are.
The paths are as empty as I'd have liked them to be if we really were what we look like, the way my arm's hooked in Landon's (when did that even happen? Old habits...) - young, shy lovers off on a new adventure.
No, this rodeo is old, even if it doesn't feel like that - and I'd rather these romantic shady paths be crowded with people, rude, noisy, horrid people who would be a useful distraction, annoyance, anything.
"Ah, here we are," I say, letting go of his arm as we approach the bronze statue that's as high as a building.
It's bigger than I remembered, more detailed. You can see every hair in Alice's wispy eyebrows, every ripple on the bow the grotesque-looking Mad Hatter is wearing.
"You really read the book?" Landon says.
"You remembered?" I ask.
"Didn't you have this idea in college..." He's squinting, trying to remember, half-smiling with it. "An Alice in Wonderland themed club: loopy drinks and wacky music, toadstool tables and Alice herself presiding over the bar?"
"It was just a silly idea," I say quietly.
"I know, I know. Especially for a serious law student with her whole logical life ahead of her."
When I don't say anything, he continues, "I actually thought it was kind of cool."
"You laughed at me." I won't look at him - I won't. "And you are now too!"
"No, I'm not." His hand catches mine.
I pull away. "Well, you should. There's already a bunch of tea houses and bars themed like that already."
"So it wasn't such a bad idea then."
"Maybe not. But life happened."
"I know. You were a dedicated student. And it shows: you're killing us in there."
"I'd rather not talk about that."
He falls silent, which is good, although I wasn't really being honest.
While it feels wrong, us mentioning the case, what feels wronger is dancing around the truth, how I have from almost the start.
Madison. The real reason I never went ahead with the bar idea. The reason I almost didn't make it through law school, and wouldn't have without Mom's help.
The reason, right here, right now, I feel like doing nothing more than turning my back on this man and leaving without looking back.
You have a daughter, I remind myself. A goddamn beautiful, amazing daughter, who's the best thing you've ever created. Tell him. Tell him.
But telling would mean meeting, would mean... no, not yet. Not now. Probably not ever.
Which means this, me and Landon - this can never happen.
But for now, whatever this is, for now, maybe.
"Fancy a bit of boating?" Landon asks.
"I'll be doing the rowing," he adds a few seconds later, suddenly surly.
"You will?" I ask. "I haven't even agreed yet."
His scowl darkens. "There's your MO: arguing with everything I suggest."
"It's my job to argue," I point out.
"That makes it OK?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then what are you saying?"
At some point, we got close and all up in each other's faces, and I'm only now noticing. How his full lips are parted, ready for what I can't let happen. How his hazel eyes look greener when he's mad - or is it when he's aroused?
I take a step back, swallow. Chill, Kyra. "I'm saying that I wanted - want - to go slow - and you..." I trail off, sighing in exasperation at the look on his face. As convincingly innocent as it gets. Damn him. Now I remember why this all seems familiar. "You just suggested we do another date you always promised me we'd do when we were together."
