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She’d rolled her eyes. “My boyfriend would never bring me here, which is truly disappointing.”

I liked the roll of her eyes when I mentioned her boyfriend. Possibly a little too much.

After we finished eating, she’d taken my hand and pulled me with her to wind our way through streets so she could point out community gardens she loves, cafes that have the best coffee, tucked-away dress shops and tiny art galleries she frequents, and the buildings that house charities she supports.

Book stores rank highly on her list too and we’re currently sitting outside hermost favorite of favorites,her words not mine.

“It may not be eighteen miles of books,” she says, referencing the bookstore I’m surprised isn’t on her list of favorites, “but it has the best collection of lesser-known books that more people should know about.”

“Such as?”

Her eyes sparkle. “I found a first edition Charlotte Franklin poetry book here earlier this year. I’m kicking myself for not buying it.”

I don’t know who Charlotte Franklin is but from the way Kristen has lit up, I’m guessing she loves her writing. “Why didn’t you?”

She looks like she might roll her eyes again, but she doesn’t. Instead, she just appears unhappy. “Jeremy rushed me out of here before I had the chance. I think the fact I let him annoys me the most.”

“He doesn’t appreciate your love of poetry?”

She sighs like I’ve just asked her a hard question. “He thinks poetry is a waste of time.”

“And you? What do you love about it?”

She doesn’t rush her answer, taking the time to contemplate it before looking at me with soft eyes and saying, “Poetry unravels the complexities of the human heart and reminds me I’m not alone in my struggles. It’s a whispered conversation between souls and I find solace in the shared experience.”

Her words spark a memory of mine, one I’d long forgotten. “My mother used to read poetry when I was younger. She told me once that it invites us to truly see each other.”

“Yes! That’s exactly how I feel.” She turns her body fully to mine, inching a little closer. Her eyes are wide open and sparkle like stars. The enthusiasm in them mirrors the infectious smile stretching across her face. “Do you know who her favorite poet is?”

Keeping my thoughts in a straight line is difficult as I watch and listen to her. She’s so damn beautiful but when she’s alive like this, I couldn’t even begin to describe her allure.

“I don’t. I’m not as close to Mom as I am to Dad. She can be distant at times.”

“Is that because she’s busy with your family? Or do you mean she’s emotionally distant?”

“Mom was raised to be the dutiful wife and mother, and that’s exactly what she is. I think that’s left her little time to build stronger bonds.”

“Especially when she has five sons, right? Like, that’s a lot of responsibility. I can’t even imagine being responsible for five humans.” She stops and thinks for a moment before asking, “Do you think she went into her marriage wanting five children?”

I lean in close to her, partly because I can’t get enough of being near her, partly because her scent is like a drug, and partly because I’m spellbound by the depth of our conversation over the last four hours. “I like your version of getting to know someone.”

She blinks. Then, she smooths her dress. Then, she gives me the kind of smile that settles itself low in my stomach. “It’s not my usual style.”

I wasn’t lying to Kristen when I told her earlier that every guy in New York knows her name. They do. When she enters a room, she has all eyes on her. She glides through ballrooms like she was born to inhabit them, all sophisticated beauty and poise. Women watch her like they want to be her. Men are helpless but to follow her every move. I should know. The last time I saw her at a gala, my girlfriend spent the night glaring at me after I watched Kristen for a minute too long.

Up close, I see her differently. Kristen has far more to offer than flawless skin, full lips, beautiful blue eyes, long silky brunette hair, and curves for days. She’s intelligent, thoughtful, and kind. But more than that, she’s genuine and honest.

She’s not as confident as she appears. I’ve seen moments of uncertainty and the kind of internal struggle that is real and raw and so fucking endearing.That’swhat I’m drawn to more than any beauty she radiates.

“You mean you don’t ask every guy you meet about his mother?” I tease.

The corners of her mouth gently inch up at my banter. “I haven’t met a guy who would have been willing to spend hours following me around a city answering every question I threw his way.”

My gaze is firmly glued to hers as I say, “That’s their loss.”

Kristen blushes at that. It’s the second time I’ve caused this reaction in her and I can’t deny just how much I like what it tells me: that she’s as attracted to me as I am to her. However, I can’t do anything with that attraction. Or more to the point,won’t. Not when we’re both in relationships.

In an effort to shift my thoughts from this, I bring the conversation back to her last question. “So, if I tell you that my mother only wanted four children, will you tell me something you want in life?”

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