to it.
With hair curlier by the footstep, she points out orchids she loves, saying things like, “Oh, I’ve never seen that one before! Look!”
Midway through we duck sheaths of Spanish Moss, and turn around as a conservatory volunteer behind us announces, “These don’t have chiggers in them.”
Lexi’s cherry eyebrows rise. “Really?”
“Those are only outside in the real world. We don’t have them in the exhibit.”
“Huh,” I mumble, “Always wanted to touch these,” fingering the chaos of spindly strings.
Lexi’s pseudo-annoyed, “I wish someone had told me that earlier! I’ve been here how many times?!” makes our informative volunteer smile.
“I can always tell a local from how they react. Tourists touch it right away.”
Georgians know that Spanish Moss — cool as it looks — should never be touched. It houses tiny bugs that burrow under your skin and have to be burned out. With fire.
When your parents warn you about chiggers with an image like that, you listen.
Our curiosity satisfied, we start to move on, but the volunteer says, “I love your curly hair!”
Lexi blinks. Her hands fly to her head, eyes wide. “Oh no!” She turns to me. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”
“Oh,” the volunteer stammers, “I thought…” and hurries off.
A smirk pulls at my lips. “Why didn’t I tell you what?”
“That my hair went wild?”
I pull her in.
She fights me.
Finally gives up.
And for the first time today she looks insecure.
I touch her chin.
Tilt it.
Murmur, “I like it wild.”
“It’s a mess.”
“No, it isn’t, Cherry. You’re beautiful. And it makes no sense that an untamed woman like you tames anything other than me.”
She searches my eyes, lips parting to speak but my kiss doesn’t give her a chance. Lexi melts into me, pressing her body to mine as I hold her close.
“You guys must be new,” comes a woman’s interruption.
We look over to see the same older couple smiling at us as they pass — this time with more than enough room to get by, so we don’t need to move or even separate.
Lexi doesn’t like the implication, and smiles at them, “My parents still make out. You should give it a revisit!”
The man glances back, his gaze then dropping to consider the possibility, but his wife has hurried her steps and left him behind. Poor guy.
I lower my volume to smirk, “Think you embarrassed her,” and get a kiss in return. One for the record books.
We move on, and she continues to point out which orchids speak to her the most.
I admit, “To me they look like they’re from an alien planet, dropped here by guys with heads like praying mantises.”
Lexi eyeballs me. “What?!”
I shrug.
We pass by an oddly shaped one that proves my point, and Lexi exclaims, “I guess they kinda do!”
“You hungry?”
“So hungry! All I had today was that donut.”
“Want to walk around Piedmont Park, grab something from a cart?”
“Yes!”
“Cool.”
She tugs my hand, “Gage, wait,” stopping just before the exit. “Take one last deep breath.”
I do, even closing my eyes because it smells so good.
We walk back the way we came in, through vine curtains, tree-lined paths filled with frogs we can only hear, and out through the lobby into sunlight flickering from lily pads the size of my head.
Lexi whispers, “Look!”
I follow her chin-point to the pond’s edge, far right, where I see that older couple — his arms around her waist, hers around his neck, kissing like they’re remembering how.
A grin spreads, and I whisper back to Cherry, “Well, I’ll be,” taking her hand as we head left to leave them to it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
LEXI
THREE MONTHS LATER
We show up at The Local where Wyatt, Nathan, Sam, Zoe and Ryder have already staked our claim of its dart board, everyone’s in their casuals, no jackets since it’s a warm Wednesday night. There’s just a smattering of customers which is why we’re here mid-week. Little to no competition for gaming.
Sammy waves high in the air, “Lexi! Gage! We’re over here!”
I lean to whisper as we walk through the nearly empty restaurant area, “As if we couldn’t see them,” and kiss Gage’s cheek.
Gage turns his face and kisses my lips, quickly, before we reach them and he’s officially introduced to the boys in an extremely unofficial way. I kind of wave at him, “This is Gage,” naming each guy off by pointing, “That’s Wyatt, Nathan — they’re brothers. And this is Ryder, he’s the nephew of our cousin’s husband. That’s a mouthful.”
Gage offers a simple, “Hey.”
They return the same.
He nods to Sam and Zoe who smile, “Hi Gage!”
My girls have gotten