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“You sure about that, sweetheart? Because you look––”
“I can take that for you, hon.” Someone taps my shoulder and I whirl around. A jogger stands in front of me, bouncing on the spot. She nods to Hawthorne and then back at me. “So you can get in the photo with your boyfriend?”
“Oh. No. He’s not–”
“Thank you! That’s so kind of you,” Hawthorne yells across the short distance between us. He crooks a finger towards me. “Get over here,sweetheart.”
He sayssweetheartwith more emphasis than usual, making the word sound sickly sweet.
“It’s no problem,” the jogger says as she snatches Hawthorne’s phone out of my hands and then waves me off in his direction.
I march almost robotically over to him. It figures, butnowhe’s beaming. I arch a brow. “So youcansmile, then?”
“Now I have a reason to.”
As soon as I’m within touching distance he pulls me flush against him, so my back is pressed up against his chest. His arms move to wrap around my middle and I feel him drop his chin gently to rest on my head.
“Alright,” the jogger calls. “Three. Two. One. Say cheese!”
His arms tighten around me and I don’t need to force the soft smile that lifts my lips as I bring up a hand to rest on his forearm and relax into his touch.
I think that I could get used to being in Finn Hawthorne’s arms.
“Nice!” She jogs over to us and, despite the warm temperature, I immediately feel cold when Hawthorne unravels himself from me and reaches for his phone.
He glances at the photo and then shoves his phone back into his pocket without letting me see. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” She gives us both a wink before she quickly jogs away.
I watch as she disappears down the hill, and when I turn back to Hawthorne he’s got his eyes firmly planted on me.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he says. “Just admiring the view.”
My heart does a little flip, but I roll my eyes anyway as I plop down onto the grass. “How incredibly corny of you.”
“Couldn’t waste the opportunity.” He joins me on the grass but doesn’t come to sit by my side. Instead he sits directly behind me, spreading his legs wide so I’m nestled between his thighs. “Itisa beautiful view though.”
“Which one are you talking about now?”
I feel, rather than hear, the quiet laugh that rumbles through his chest. “Assume I’m always talking about you, sweetheart.” He brings his arms around me again and I waste no time melting into his touch.
We stay like this – me, leaning against him, his arms wrapped loosely around my waist – until the sun sets and the sky turns dark. If it wasn’t for the sudden chill that descends upon us once the last orange rays disappear beyond the horizon, I would’ve gladly stayed for longer.
It feels good being in Hawthorne’s arms.
It feelsright.
Like this is where I’m supposed to be.
But the wind is surprisingly cold and when I shiver for the third time in a row, Hawthorne suggests we start making our way home. He insists on calling me a taxi despite my protests.
“I told you,” he says as we wait for it to arrive. “Anyone who spends the night with me isn’t walking home.”
I force out a snort. “In your dreams, Hawthorne.”
And mine too it seems. Because when I’m home later that evening, tucked under my blankets, and my traitorous hands dip under the band of my pyjama shorts to find myself wet and wanting, it’s Hawthorne’s face that swims in my vision.
