Once he gets in, there’s no avoiding the truth.
We are feet apart. In his SUV. Together.
And we are about to drive an hour away to a place where anything can happen.
Gripping my purse, I breathe through the tension in my limbs as he backs out of the parking spot and heads to the main road.
At ten miles per hour, the doors automatically lock, and I feel the vibration echo in my skull like my fate being sealed.
?
“No outside food allowed on park premises,” a security guard says when he opens the large pack Malcolm grabbed after our long, silent drive here. “Sorry, sir. You’ll have to leave this in your vehicle.”
“I called ahead,” Malcolm says, fingers tucking into his hair. “I was told an exception could be made in the case of dietary restrictions. I believe I spoke with a Mrs. Arowin if you need to double-check, but she assured me she’d let the exception be known for a Malcolm Swallow.”
The guard’s brows lift. “Ah, I see. You’re Mr. Swallow. Very good then.” The guard ushers him along into the park, then calls to the line, “Next.”
Rejoining me, Malcolm hefts the bag over his broad shoulder and smiles.
I stare at him, then at the pack.
“Yes?” he prompts, voice low and purring.
My brows knit.
He chuckles, reaches in his pocket for a glove, slips it on, then places the covered hand at the small of my back to guide me intothe waking nightmare. “Go on. Talk to me. We’ve already spent plenty of time playing in the dead silence of our car ride today, haven’t we?”
“Why are you bringing food into the park?” I ask.
“I think you know.”
“I think I don’t.”
“Really?” His brows rise as the entrance—an overgrown, lush archway bursting with thousands of flowers—gives way to pearly and glittering pathways. Butterflies flit through the air, ignoring the steadily rising hum of voices and the shriek of roller coasters making their first routes of the day.
Already, I’m overwhelmed.
And having Malcolm’s hand against me doesn’t help any more than him murmuring, “It’s so you’ll be able to eat today.”
I flinch.
He swears, long and low. “Tormenting me already, darling little dove?”
I pull out of his reach and stare at him. “What…do you meanit’s so I’ll be able to eat today?”
Shifting the pack, he unzips and shows me.
My throat tightens.
“It’s not exactly ameal, but I was working withshelf-stable, individually packaged,andvegan, so…” He removes a box of Nature’s Bakery double chocolate brownies. “I did what I could with guidance from the things I’ve seen you bring for your lunches before.”
Lips parted, I stare at him, look in the bag, see my go-to fig bars…my favorite chips…the granola I gravitate toward…the glass bottle juices that I get because even though they’re expensive, I need to be able to see into the container I’m drinking from.
I don’t…understand what’s happening.
It’sthoughtful. Beyond thoughtful. This on top of the way he prepared his car for me chills me to the bone.
He is terrifying.
