in.
Rose essence exploded over her taste buds, making her want to swoon. If this wasn’t magic, sitting with a gorgeous, generous billionaire lover and eating gourmet ice cream made of flowers, she didn’t know what was.
An idea came to her. She laid her head in his lap, dipped her finger into the rose gelato, and traced it over his mouth. He swallowed hard and then licked his lips.
“Tell me a story,” she whispered. She imagined the two of them lying in a bed of rose petals, trading secret stories while sipping elderflower cordial. While linking fingers and nuzzling each other’s necks.
He looked a little surprised. “Like . . . like Goldilocks and the Three Bears?”
Esme started to sit up then. She’d forgotten that was the whole reason they’d come out here—he’d wanted to show her something that had to do with the old fairy tale. Wasn’t it a fairy tale? She wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. “Weren’t you going to show me something?”
Zachary gently pressed her back down. “I like you here,” he said, patting his thigh. Esme smiled. She really did fit so nicely there, and he was so solid and warm. “So you want me to tell you a story. How about when I was a little boy and I didn’t get Coke a lot, so the one time I had a whole can to myself, I was totally convinced I could make it last a lot longer if I added water to it?”
Esme burst out laughing. “That’s adorable!” She wanted to go back in time and pinch his little cheeks. “So did you get more Coke?”
Zachary laughed, too. “I was so sure I’d figured out the solution! Why hadn’t anyone tried this, right?”
Esme nodded. “Right.” She noticed his scent again then, something clean and piney and also a bit wild. She liked it. “So?”
He stroked her hair, long, slow motions across her scalp, making her want to sleep. “So I could have kicked myself. Not only did I not make more Coke, but I destroyed what little Coke I did have. Ever tried really flat soda? It was like that, only it didn’t even taste like anything!”
“You poor thing,” Esme said, trying not to laugh. But her heart hurt a little, too; she could imagine Zachary as a little boy, earnestly trying that and then his same blue eyes blinking back his tears when he’d lost on both counts. A rush of affection warmed her. “But did you end up getting more Coke later?”
“I don’t even like Coke now,” Zachary said, the corner of his mouth turning up sheepishly. “I guess I never got over feeling disappointed that day.” He gently tweaked her nose. “So what about you? What story are you going to tell me?”
Esme thought about it. None of her dates had ever bothered to ask her about herself, not really. Or if they did, they’d quickly talk over her when she tried to answer. Zachary, though, watched her with concentration, which made her want to make her reply a good one. “When I was little, all I ever wanted to do was read. Read and eat candy. I liked to take books out to the pond; it was like I had my own secret place under a willow tree. For some reason, no one ever went there.”
She paused to make sure she wasn’t boring Zachary. To her amazement, he looked interested. Engrossed, even. “Keep going,” he said.
“Okay,” said Esme, smiling. “Well, I had this silly dream that if I just found the right book, it would teach me how to stop being scared and learn how to swim.”
“You don’t know how to swim?” Zachary asked, the question Esme had always hated, but he lacked the contempt all the other people who asked had had. He was just interested.
So she answered the question. “No. I never found the right book.”
“Well, I’m no book, but if you ever want, maybe I can teach you,” Zachary offered. “I’m—I’m—”
He cut himself off and looked like he was in pain. His eyes scrunched up, and his face turned red. Two words came out in a strange, guttural voice. “Tell her.”
“Zachary?” Esme whispered, reaching
Rose essence exploded over her taste buds, making her want to swoon. If this wasn’t magic, sitting with a gorgeous, generous billionaire lover and eating gourmet ice cream made of flowers, she didn’t know what was.
An idea came to her. She laid her head in his lap, dipped her finger into the rose gelato, and traced it over his mouth. He swallowed hard and then licked his lips.
“Tell me a story,” she whispered. She imagined the two of them lying in a bed of rose petals, trading secret stories while sipping elderflower cordial. While linking fingers and nuzzling each other’s necks.
He looked a little surprised. “Like . . . like Goldilocks and the Three Bears?”
Esme started to sit up then. She’d forgotten that was the whole reason they’d come out here—he’d wanted to show her something that had to do with the old fairy tale. Wasn’t it a fairy tale? She wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. “Weren’t you going to show me something?”
Zachary gently pressed her back down. “I like you here,” he said, patting his thigh. Esme smiled. She really did fit so nicely there, and he was so solid and warm. “So you want me to tell you a story. How about when I was a little boy and I didn’t get Coke a lot, so the one time I had a whole can to myself, I was totally convinced I could make it last a lot longer if I added water to it?”
Esme burst out laughing. “That’s adorable!” She wanted to go back in time and pinch his little cheeks. “So did you get more Coke?”
Zachary laughed, too. “I was so sure I’d figured out the solution! Why hadn’t anyone tried this, right?”
Esme nodded. “Right.” She noticed his scent again then, something clean and piney and also a bit wild. She liked it. “So?”
He stroked her hair, long, slow motions across her scalp, making her want to sleep. “So I could have kicked myself. Not only did I not make more Coke, but I destroyed what little Coke I did have. Ever tried really flat soda? It was like that, only it didn’t even taste like anything!”
“You poor thing,” Esme said, trying not to laugh. But her heart hurt a little, too; she could imagine Zachary as a little boy, earnestly trying that and then his same blue eyes blinking back his tears when he’d lost on both counts. A rush of affection warmed her. “But did you end up getting more Coke later?”
“I don’t even like Coke now,” Zachary said, the corner of his mouth turning up sheepishly. “I guess I never got over feeling disappointed that day.” He gently tweaked her nose. “So what about you? What story are you going to tell me?”
Esme thought about it. None of her dates had ever bothered to ask her about herself, not really. Or if they did, they’d quickly talk over her when she tried to answer. Zachary, though, watched her with concentration, which made her want to make her reply a good one. “When I was little, all I ever wanted to do was read. Read and eat candy. I liked to take books out to the pond; it was like I had my own secret place under a willow tree. For some reason, no one ever went there.”
She paused to make sure she wasn’t boring Zachary. To her amazement, he looked interested. Engrossed, even. “Keep going,” he said.
“Okay,” said Esme, smiling. “Well, I had this silly dream that if I just found the right book, it would teach me how to stop being scared and learn how to swim.”
“You don’t know how to swim?” Zachary asked, the question Esme had always hated, but he lacked the contempt all the other people who asked had had. He was just interested.
So she answered the question. “No. I never found the right book.”
“Well, I’m no book, but if you ever want, maybe I can teach you,” Zachary offered. “I’m—I’m—”
He cut himself off and looked like he was in pain. His eyes scrunched up, and his face turned red. Two words came out in a strange, guttural voice. “Tell her.”
“Zachary?” Esme whispered, reaching
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