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I’m gawking and helpless to stop it, so I word-vomit the first thing that comes to mind. “This place doesn’t seem like your kind of scene.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to snatch them back.
Or kick myself. Possibly both.
An amused smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. I tear my attention away from such dangerous territory and lock my eyes on his, which isn’t much better because everything about this man has me aflutter.
“That came out wrong.”
“It’s okay,” he says with a laugh. “I know what you mean.”
Does he? I’m skeptical as he crosses his arms, stretching thin cotton over the muscles his suits fail to accentuate. For an insane second, I think about running my fingers over his biceps.
Get a fucking grip, Jules.
God, how I’d like to.
“Even pretentious guys like me are susceptible to the charms of a Seattle tradition.” He shoots me a look full of mischief.
“You are so not pretentious.”
Swarms of people are passing by, and Cash steps toward me to clear out of their path. “Have you been here before?” he asks as he grabs a small container of blackberries. He’s so close that his breath rustles the top of my head, and the woodsy scent I’m ashamed to admit is as familiar as my own perfume floods my nose.
“Uh…” Blinking, I snap out of my stupor. “Today is the first day I’ve made it down here.”
“That’s criminal.” He moves toward the cashier, and I follow without thinking.
“Why’s that?”
“Well, it’s been five weeks since you moved here. That’s about five weeks too long.”
He’s poking fun at me, but I can’t get past the fact that he remembers the exact amount of time I’ve been in Seattle.
After he pays for the berries, he pops one into his mouth. “Walk with me for a while? I’ll share.” He holds the container toward me, and I pick up a berry, my fingers trembling the slightest bit. We step onto the brick street and meander around the various food carts on the sidewalk.
“How are you liking Seattle so far?”
“I’m loving it. I think I could really call this place home.” Peeking at him from the corner of my eye, I reach for another berry, and my arm brushes his, skin to skin. Even with the breeze, it’s too warm out to blame the eruption of gooseflesh on the weather. We walk in companionable silence for a while, popping berries every few steps. “Where are we going?”
“Where do you wanna go?”
Sliding the fruit between my lips, I try to shrug with nonchalance, but I’m sure I fail. Or maybe he doesn’t notice how nervous I am, since his attention is on my mouth.
“You been to the waterfront yet?” he asks, and my heart skips a beat because I don’t think I’m imagining the uneven quality of his voice.
“I haven’t.”
“You’re racking up the felonies today.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s criminal,” he reminds me. “You might call Seattle home now, but that doesn’t mean you should skip the tourist experience.” He tilts his head toward Elliot Bay. “Want to check it out?”
“Sure.” I’ll do anything he asks if it means I get to spend more time with him. I shove the fact that he has a wife to the back of my mind. I’m convinced my good friend Denial lives in that area of my brain.
The sidewalk is busy. Even so, we stroll toward the waterfront closer than is necessary. Closer than is appropriate. Before long, a Ferris wheel looms ahead of us.
He gestures toward the giant ride. “You up for it?”
I glance at the monstrous wheel. This whole encounter feels like it’s straddling the line we’re trying hard not to cross, but I can’t bring myself to break away from him. Being near Cash is so intoxicating, it’s addictive.
