I rock on my heels, suddenly aware of the quiet. “We don’t have to go either,” I say. “It might be wiser to call it a night.”
“Oh, we’re going,” he says with finality, a gleam in his eyes. “You’ve been talking about ice cream for days, and besides, it’s a beautiful night.”
“If you’re sure.” He’s right. The evening air is balmy with a light breeze. And if I’m being honest, I kind of don’twant this night to end.
“Are you okay going with those shoes?” he asks, glancing down. “Or do you need to swap for something more comfortable? It’s just around the block, but—”
“They’re not too uncomfortable.” I shrug, glancing down at my black stilettos.
He raises both eyebrows.
I chuckle. “Well, I have to wear them pretty often for work. Black-tie events and stuff. I’m used to it.”
He studies them thoughtfully. “They look like torture devices to me.”
I bump my shoulder into his. “Says the guy who spends half his life on skates.”
He takes a step back, eyeing me warily. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who can’t skate.”
“Why? You can’t be friends with a bad skater?” I ask, daring him with my gaze.
“For you,” he says with a smirk, “I’ll make an exception.”
I shake my head. “Darn it. And here I thought I’d found a way out.”
He bursts out laughing. “Nope. You’re stuck with me,” he says, guiding me out of the hotel with a hand on the small of my back.
We step onto the sidewalk, chatting and enjoying the short walk as the warm summer breeze caresses our skin, the city buzzing softly around us.
After finally ordering some ice cream—biggest achievement of my DC trip—we take the longest way back.
“I can’t believe it’s over already,” I say, licking a bite of fudge-stripe raspberry ice cream from my spoon. “It went by fast, in a way. I was dreading this so much.”
“Yeah,” he says. “We’re not that bad after all, right?”
“Well, you did lose,” I tease. “But the Stars team was all right.”
He stops in his tracks. “You didnotjust say that.”
I slow my steps and hold his gaze in challenge, and before I know what’s happening, he’s tickling me. I scream-laugh, twisting away, doing some improv acrobatics to keep from dropping my ice cream.
“I’m kidding!” I say, breathless. “You did great. And you can’t win them all, right?”
He nods, withdrawing his hands. “That’s the sport.”
“So,” I say after a beat, my voice softer now. “What are your plans for the summer? Party boat in Ibiza? Sun lounging in Dubai?”
He shakes his head. “Really? You should know me better by now.”
“Sorry,” I murmur, biting my lip. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”
“What’s up with this bias anyway?” he jokes. “Has a celebrity stolen your lunch or something?”
I hesitate, not sure it’s the right time—or if he’s the right person. And yet, for the first time in my life, I want to say the words out loud.
“No,” I murmur. “But one killed my dad.”
He stills. “Oh… Harper, I’m so sorry. What happened?”
