Knocking Boots - Willow Winters Page 0,40
this date. Stashing my phone, I wait at the entrance to the park, next to the big white sign waiting for Charlie.
When I see Charlie, everything in me clenches, the good kind of way. From his simple white tee pulled tight across his broad shoulders, to his bulging biceps and worn jeans… he is my kind of man. I try not to stare at him as I hand him an iced coffee, but his deep green eyes are all over me.
“Thanks,” he says, eyes roving down my figure. “You look… nice.” Heat creeps up high in my cheeks, all the way to my temple.
“Yeah, well,” I can’t help but smile, blushing as I play off the compliment. I swear, when Charlie’s around, my cheeks are a permanent shade of tomato red, made even more apparent because of my fair complexion. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
“You ready?” he says, nodding toward the park.
“I am,” I answer. I have to hold onto my coffee with both hands to keep from reaching out for his with one of mine.
Sipping my iced coffee, I ignore the feeling that something’s different between us as we stroll down one of the paths, under a banner declaring this the Piedmont Park Festival in bright blue scroll. Each side of the path is dotted with individual booths full of food and games or larger showcases of handmade trinkets and art to buy, which take up several tents measuring twelve by twelve feet each.
I sip my iced coffee, but I can’t help smiling as Charlie tells me a story about his younger sister Ali and how she had a fit one year over her funnel cake dropping.
“I mean… she was only, what did you say? Six? And I’d have a fit today if I dropped a full funnel cake.”
The conversation is easy. The laughs are genuine. It’s different. The small touches, the quick glances. It makes my naïve heart think there’s something here.
“Alright, your turn. What about your family?”
“Well, it’s just my mom now. My dad died in a car crash when I was little.” I talk easily, but stare at the grass as we climb up a bit of a hill. I wish I had a big loving family like his.
“I’m sorry.” I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t look back.
“It’s been a long time. But thank you.” It’s quiet for too long. I want to tell him that I talk to my mom often but she’s busy and travels a lot. It’s all clogged at the back of my throat though, so I try washing it down with the rest of my coffee.
“What about your parents?” I question him, “What do they do. Your mom seems really sweet.”
His grin is asymmetric and that’s when our hands brush for just a moment. Ripping my gaze away so he doesn’t see my blush get even hotter, I wait for him to answer. “Dad’s a pilot. Ma’s a homemaker. And you’ve met one of my sisters.”
“That I have.” I can feel my eyebrows raise up, remembering Ali. “I still have to message her,” I admit to him. He only laughs and tells me he’ll give me her number. I move the cold coffee cup to my other hand, wiping the water off on my jacket before taking another sip.
“What’s Ali do?”
“She’s a nurse. Just graduated two years ago.”
I turn to look at him as we walk to the top of the hill and pause there, “And your other sister?”
“Cheryl’s a homemaker, like my ma. She has a fancy English degree, and she’ll probably go back to teaching at some point. She loves kids.”
“Kids,” I repeat the word, feeling a low tension roll over me.
“They have a baby now, so she’s adjusting to being at home and all that.”
The mention of a baby makes my heart flip. My lips part to ask him more about his sister, but my eyes catch sight of exactly what I want right now.
On cue, my stomach grumbles with hunger, “Want one?” I question
“The pickle on a stick or the waffle fries?” he questions, grinning from ear to ear.
Shrugging I answer, “Either or both.” Fried food and big pickles on a stick are exactly what I think of when I think festival. That and funnel cake of course.
“Well what are you getting?” He asks me and I answer, “The doughnuts. They are fried heaven with powdered sugar.” My stomach grumbles again as the smell gets stronger and the line we’re standing in