“I want to be outside,” I reply with a smile. “But no strenuous activity. My stomach can’t handle it.”

“I know a place,” he replies and kisses my nose. “You’re short without your shoes.”

“I was just thinking that.”

“And you’re gorgeous without your war paint.”

“I was not thinking that.”

“You’re just beautiful, Calliope. I’ll take you any way I can get you.” With that, he winks and backs away from me. “Adam made breakfast.”

“I can smell that bacon.”

“Well, hurry up, or there won’t be any left.”

“You would dare steal bacon from a hung over woman?” I grip my chest as if I’m shocked and devastated, but he just laughs.

“It’s not my fault that you’re in a bad way this morning, sweetheart.”

“It’s your sisters’ fault, so it’s kind of your fault.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not following your logic. Did you have fun?”

“I did.” I nod and reach for a pair of denim capris and a blue T-shirt. “They’re all nice girls. We bonded over shoes.”

“I figured you would,” he says. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For hanging out with my sisters even though I know you were uncomfortable.”

“It was fun,” I repeat and walk away like it’s no big deal. Because it is no big deal. I’m not making it a big deal. So I had wine and shopped for shoes with his sisters. It’s not like we were picking out bridesmaids dresses or anything.

“I’m hungry,” he says rather than pressing the issue.

“Me too. Go ahead, I’m gonna brush my hair and be right there.”

Before I can turn away, he has be pressed back against the vanity, his hands planted on the countertop at my hips, and he’s kissing me like his life depends on it. Only his lips are touching me, but I’m on fire everywhere.

How does he do this to me every single time?

Finally, he pulls back, smiles, and turns to walk away without another word.

I need a minute to catch my breath and gather my wits. Holy shit, that man can kiss.

***

“I love this park.” I smile and lean my head back so I can breathe in the fall air. It’s not cold here, the way it gets farther north in Colorado, but I can feel a difference in the air. And although the city always has tourists, it seems quieter now that school has started back up and families have returned home.

“You’ve been here before?” Declan asks as he takes my hand in his, threading our fingers.

“Of course. Audubon Park is famous. My dad used to bring me here and we’d feed the ducks.”

“Coincidentally, I brought duck food with me,” he replies with a smile and leads me down the path that circles through the park. “Do you know much about the park?”

“I know it’s big and there are lots of oak trees,” I reply with a smile.

“Those are both true. Do you want a history lesson, or is this boring?”

“So not boring,” I reply sincerely. “Teach me, Obi Wan.”

He snorts and then looks up at the oaks and begins his story. “These trees are more than two hundred and fifty years old. The land was originally settled by Native Americans, and then eventually by the first mayor of New Orleans. His name was Etienne de Bore.”

“What was his name?” I ask, deliberately making him repeat it, just because I love the way the French rolls off his tongue.

“Etienne de Bore. Not only was he the first mayor, but he also founded the first granulated sugar plantation in the country.”

“So he was smart.”

“And rich,” Declan says, smiling down at me. “Then, in 1850, the land was donated to the city. However, the Civil War began, and it was used as a Confederate camp and a Union hospital.”

“Wow, both sides of the war on one site.”

He nods, then points out a branch for me to walk around. “The cool thing is, in 1866, it was the site where the Buffalo Soldiers were activated from. So there is a lot of history where we’re walking. After the turn of the century, the city put together a society to oversee it, and it eventually evolved into not only the park, but also a zoo, riding stables, sports fields, and other things too.”

“You really should pursue that tour guide career,” I say, impressed. “How do you know so much?”

“I love history. Especially Louisiana history. The music I love was born here, the people I come from were from here. I like knowing where I come from.”

“What about where you’re going?” I ask as he leads me to a bridge that arches over a lazy river full of ducks and swans. He digs in a bag slung over his shoulder and comes out with a half-eaten loaf of bread.

We’ve sent several pieces over the side of the bridge, and just when I think he’s not going to answer my question, he continues. “I’ve never been so concerned about where I’m going.”

“Really?”

He shakes his head. He continues to toss the bread, and I lean my back on the railing, watching him.

“I imagine that wherever it is I’m going, I’ll get there eventually.”

My eyebrows both climb into my hairline in surprise. “That easy?”

“Sure. Why does it have to be hard?”

I think back over the past ten years. “I guess all my adult life I’ve been worried about where I would end up, in what job, and who with. How I would get there.”

“And you’ve ended up right back where you started,” he says simply. “Not that you shouldn’t work hard, because I do, but where I’m going has never been a question for me.”

“And where are you going, Declan Boudreaux?”

He smiles down at me. “That’s just it, Calliope. I’m not going anywhere. Not long-term, anyway. I’m exactly where I love to be.”

And with that, he takes my hand and leads me across the other side of the bridge and to a deck that looks out over a pond nearby. There are wooden benches tucked perfectly in the trees. It’s a cool place to sit and enjoy nature.

He leads me to a bench and reaches back in his bag, coming out with sandwiches. He hands me one, peels back the plastic on his and takes a giant bite.

We sit in silence for a while, chewing on our lunch, watching the birds and ducks. The last of the summer flowers are struggling to hang on, just a few more days. In the distance, a crew is setting up tables and chairs in a big stone pavilion, draped in pink and green. Someone will be getting married here later today.

And it’s the perfect spot for it.

I sigh as I finish my sandwich and pass the wrapper to Declan. I move to stand, but he puts his hand on my arm.

“I have one more thing to give you,” he says with a smile.

“More food? I’m full.”

“No.” He passes me an envelope, and inside are two tickets to see Seattle play football.

“Declan, you must have bought the wrong tickets. These say they play in Seattle.”

“They’re right,” he assures me and drags his hand down my back.

“I can’t just drop everything and go to Seattle.”

“You’re not. The game is two weeks away, and I know that business has slowed down enough that Adam can handle the bar for two days.”

I shake my head, but inside, I’m jumping up and down like a little girl. He just stares at me, that smirk on his lips, until I finally throw my arms around him and hug him close.

“Thank you. I’ve always wanted to see Seattle.”

“I can’t wait to show it to you,” he whispers into my ear.

Who is this man? This giving, sweet, affectionate man?

“What are you thinking?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Nothing.”

“Something just passed through that gorgeous head of yours.”

I don’t want to tell him. It makes me sound mushy and corny, but then I decide what the hell. “I was just wondering who you are, and how have you managed to make me feel so comfortable and easy with you? I trust you, Declan, and I don’t trust easily.”

Now he pulls me to my feet and wraps those long, strong arms around me. My arms are tucked against my chest, and I’m wrapped up in him. He sways us gently side to side, his mouth pressed to my head. I feel him inhale deeply, and then, finally, he whispers, “I’m Declan Boudreaux, and you trust me because I trust you, too.”