The Proposal - Kitty Thomas Page 0,17

put in the mail to me. And I've been eating a scoop of chocolate chip ice cream out of a disposable bowl from the creamery a block away.

I hurriedly fold the letter and stuff it back in the envelope and stuff it in my bag as though I've just been caught doing something wrong.

“You look like you could use some air,” he says.

“We're outside.”

He laughs, and it's the most melodic sound I've heard in ages. “That's true, but sometimes even the open air can feel stifling. Sometimes you need to move. I was just going to go for a walk down by the river where it's breezier. Come join me?”

“I don't even know you.”

I honestly have no idea what kind of magic I've worked on the universe since I started this roster thing. I thought it was my confidence that was drawing men to me, but obviously not, since this one approached when I was crying and falling apart on a park bench.

“I apologize, where are my manners? I'm Griffin.”

“Like the mythological creature?”

He grins. “Indeed. So you know I'm safe.”

I laugh in spite of myself. “I'm pretty sure Griffins don't make good house pets.”

“So you'll keep me on a leash outside. It'll be fine.”

I laugh as that visual swoops through my mind.

I need to stop moping over Soren, and standing right in front of me is my ticket out of this mental spiral. His hand is extended out to me in invitation.

“You're wearing sensible enough shoes for it,” he says.

I've already lost track of the conversation and the invitation to walk with him. And I am wearing sensible shoes. My ensemble today consists of tennis shoes, soft heather grey shorts with a drawstring waist, and a darker charcoal grey racerback T-shirt. My hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and I look like I'm ready to go for a run.

Finally I sigh and put my hand in his, allowing him to pull me up to stand. This doesn't have to go anywhere. It's not like I'm going to marry him. It's just a walk down by the river.

“I'm Livia,” I say finally.

“Beautiful name. Griffin and Livia. I think that'll look just fine on the wedding invitations. Kidding. Relax, it's just a walk.”

But my shocked face isn't from the joke. It's the fact that I was just thinking about how it wasn't like I was going to marry him. And all at once my romantic little mind is off to the races again. Maybe... this guy? I know I just met him literally two minutes ago, but don't we often joke about things that have a bit of truth to them? Isn't that the core of a joke? Truth? Could this mean he's at least looking for something real?

We walk for miles, and much longer and farther than I'd thought we would. I find myself grateful to be wearing such sensible shoes and comfortable clothes. I can't even imagine what it was he saw in me. No makeup—though that's normal for me, workout clothes, and sobbing into ice cream. Nothing says ask me out on a date like that combination. Is this a date? Or is he just a nice guy trying to cheer me up? Maybe I remind him of his sister or something. Then again, wedding invitation jokes aren't very brotherly.

We've talked for well over an hour, and I really like him. In the space of a single afternoon he's managed to restore my faith in men.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, suddenly.

I skipped lunch and the ice cream doesn't have quite the staying power of real food.

“Actually... kind of?” I say it like it's a question.

We've found ourselves standing in front of the River Siren. It's a dinner cruise riverboat. I've never actually been on it because it's for the tourists. Griffin looks from the boat to me.

“So, let's go on a dinner cruise.”

“I'm really not dressed for it,” I say, looking down at my grey cotton workout uniform.

He laughs, gesturing at his khakis and polo shirt. “I'm not much better. But it's fine. You wouldn't believe some of the odd clothes tourists wear on this thing. It's hardly a fancy venue.”

I bite my lip. It actually sounds fun, and I could use the cheering up. “Don't you have to have reservations? Tickets bought ahead?”

“Nah. They leave a couple of tables empty in case a VIP shows up.”

I arch a brow. “And you're a VIP?”

He winks, and that devastating dimple comes out of hiding again. “Definitely. I'm friends with