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They continue on their way when the woman says, "Hope you both enjoy your day in the park."
"You as well," Evan replies, his hand finding mine once more. "Good luck keeping up with Charlie."
I wave goodbye to my fleeting canine friend, the smile still lingering on my face. "Days like this," I whisper to Evan, "make me cherish the little moments more."
Evan nods, and we sit, the magic of the park surrounding us.
"It's been almost twenty minutes," Evan notices.
"Already?" I sigh. He nods. I could cry, but I won't waste the little time I have left here blurring the sky with tears.
"Did you come here a lot?" he inquires.
"Yeah, when I had the energy or needed inspiration, I would sit right here with a stool, a canvas, and my brush," I announce. "I finished your portrait here."
"So that's how it came out so beautifully," he displays. His eyes won't let up after he finishes his sentence. They study me: my face, my lips, my eyes. I am getting lightheaded, so I fall back onto the grass.
I stretch out until my fingers hit the fragile stems of daisies. I pick one from the dirt. It's so small. The wind could take the petals if it decided to blow any harder. I twiddle the weak flower between my fingers, it upright while the rest of the world is upside down.
If I had to choose where to live with no worries of money or stalkers, I'd make my home a garden right in the middle of a cozy, busy town. It sounds stupid and impossible, but why be negative when most of everything elseis?
I grin at the happy little daisy until I see a figure a little too still among the lively park. I shoot up and peek over my shoulder to scan the park with my vision upright.
"Isabella? What's wrong?" Evan searches our surroundings. "Is he here?"
I don't answer. I'm trying to figure it out, but I'm beginning to think it's a trick I played on myself.
"I thought I saw him," I speak, relaxing on the grass.
"I think it's time we go. We've already been here too long," Evan conveys, standing up and dusting himself off.
I curse under my breath. It's my fault we're going in now, but I can't stay out forever anyway. We return to the car, and Evan drives us back to the drab, cold building—my tower. I was right; the ride back is about as lengthy as a blink. Though I am upset, I'm not unappreciative.
We exit the car, leave it with the valet, and ride the elevator to the top sooner than I wanted to. I'm back home. I thought the trip would make me feel better. It's seems colder now.
With a sigh, I turn to face the business mogul as he shuts the door. "Thanks, Evan," I express.
"Of course," he gives me a grin. I can't help but sigh and put my hands in my pockets. There is a tiny presence between the cloth. I pull it out—the daisy. I hadn't realized I stuck it in my pocket; sadly, it's crumpled. A few petals are missing; the stem is twisted and leaking.
"Are you looking that saddened because of the flower?" Evan asks almost mockingly, but I glance up at him with a heavy frown and sniffles.
"Oh," he is surprised. "I didn't know it was actually making you…sad," he takes away the tiny dying life from my hands. "Don't worry about this, okay?"
His words are amiable but don't stop the tears from flowing. This isn't only about the daisy. Still, its invisible weight manages to drain out the stored stress and trauma I'm convincing myself I am healing from. Or it's my hormones because of the pregnancy. I can't tell. I drop to the floor.
"D-do you want it back?" He kneels down. It's the first time I've heard him stutter. I can't speak. I can't stop the tears. At this moment, I don't think anything can comfort me or snap me out of my crying spell until I feel his arms wrap around me.
I fall into the touch, eager to take affection. Genuine affection. I hadn't had that in years, only crippling loneliness and illusions of love fromhim.But I can't think about that when I am in Evan's embrace. His warmth casts out any chills from that God-forsaken air conditioner. I wish I could hug him like that every day, but I didn't think I'd ever get the chance to hug him again, so I take what I am given.
"Are you feeling better?" he asks. Oh goodness. My sadness is wiped away like fog on a bathroom mirror with one whisper. His voice is weighty, low, and powerful. Surely, with how our chests are sandwiched together, he can hear my heartbeat, but instead of the panic I usually feel, the frantic need to get away and hide, I peel my face from his chest and gaze into his eyes. He says nothing. It returns the yearning in me. He doesn't need to say a word.
I press my lips to his. The skin is hot and burning, spreading throughout my face and between my thighs. I want more of him so badly, and I need it fast. I slide my hands from his arms around his neck and play with the curly, raven hairs growing on the nape of his neck. Evan closes the gap—if you could call it that—between us, using my hips as handles. If I weren't holding onto him, I'd faint.
"Mhm, stop," he mumbles against my lips. I stop but don't move away, and he doesn't appear interested in opening the gap again, "Why are you doing this?" he interrogates.
I furrow my eyebrows, "Why are you?"
"No, no," he shakes his head. "I know why I'm doing this. I care about you. I think you're beautiful, talented, and have a wonderful personality."If his gaze had already melted me, his words evaporate me entirely, leaving me on a hazy, happy cloud. "Why are you interested in me?" he interrogates.
