Page 64 of Open for Negotiation
“I’ll go anywhere with you. You know that. I could use the exercise anyway,” she giggles.
***
Two hours later, we’ve walked the length of River Street three times, talking, laughing, exploring shops, and stopping in for a drink at a local bar called The Warehouse.
Somehow, she even convinced me to dance to some country song with her.
To say that it was the best evening I’ve had in years would be an understatement, and now, standing along the banks of the river with her, watching the water lap the rocks, and staring out at the lights coming from the Talmadge Memorial Bridge, fuck, there’s nothing better.
She’s resting her arms on the metal railing that lines the sidewalk, separating the river bank from River Street, and I slide up behind her, and wrap my arms around her body.
“Have you enjoyed our day?” I ask, kissing the crook of her neck.
“More than I’ve enjoyed days lately. This city is amazing.” She turns her head slightly to face mine. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“I think you know by now that I’d take you anywhere with me.” I gently cup her face in my hand, sliding my thumb over her bottom lip.
In this moment, my heart cracks open, making a little bit more room for someone to be at home there.
“What just happened?” she asks me, leaning back a little to put some space between our faces, like she wants to get a better look at me.
“What do you mean?”
“You seemed to just shift somewhere else in your head for a second. What are you thinking about?”
I sigh and drop my forehead to hers. “Telling people what is in my head isn’t exactly my favorite thing to do in the entire world.”
She doesn’t respond, because I think she understands, or at least, I hope she does.
“Tell me something, anything, something about you or something that happened to you that makes you who you are today.”
I look down at her, confused. “What?”
“I just want to know you more.”
“Like I said, baby, I’m not much of a talker when it comes to that stuff.”
She sighs heavily and leans her head back on me. “Just let me in, Max.”
***
We stand there for a moment longer before I take her hand and begin the trek back to the car. We weave through the cobblestone streets, passing the historic homes and vine-covered wrought iron fencing, hand in hand, like we have done this a thousand times.
When we reach the block just before the darkened alley where our car is parked, she pauses, looking toward Forsyth Park.
“Do you hear that?”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“The fountain.”
“Yeah, there is a big white fountain right over there.” I point. “It’s actually pretty famous around here.”
“Come on.” She squeezes my hand and pulls me into a run across the street and into the tree covered sidewalks of the park.
It’s late, so there is no one else around. There’s only us, the trees, the benches, the light from the streetlights above us, and the large, white fountain.
“Oh my God, Max, this is beautiful.”
