Page 49 of The Fake Out

I shrugged. “They fascinate me. There is this place in Finland I’ve always wanted to visit. You can stay in a glass house and watch them?—”

Her mouth fell open.

“What?” I froze. Shit. That was a stupid thing to admit. When I’d mentioned it to the guys, they’d taunted me. We’d had a whole conversation about where we’d go if we could pick up and leave right then. Most of the guys threw out locations like Vegas or Iceland. But the idea of the flashes of color lighting up the sky above me thrilled me.

Gianna licked her lips. “The Kakslauttanen Resort.”

I nodded, lowering my head and cracking my knuckles. “Yeah.”

“That’s my dream trip.”

My heart stuttered as a vision swamped me. An image of Gi beside me as the greens and blues danced across her bare skin. Rolling her so she straddled me with the aurora borealis glowing behind her, reflecting off her long brown hair.

“Mine too,” I whispered. My mouth was suddenly dry. The wine really didn’t help, but I took a sip anyway.

She looked back at the water. “What else is on your list?”

“The underwater hotel in the Maldives, Bocas del Toro in Panama.”

She chuckled darkly, but she wasn’t smiling.

“What?” I asked again.

“Let me guess.” She pressed her lips together and studied me with a thoughtful look. “The Tree House Lodge in the Amazon.”

I nodded.

“Sounds like we have the same list. All the hot spots for extreme natural travel. I’ve always wanted to paint them.” She shook her head. “I never realized how alike the two of us are.”

I wanted to laugh, but the sound caught in my throat. Because suddenly, the idea of seeing those places without her seemed underwhelming. More than the sights, I wanted to witness the smile that would spread across her face as fish swam above her and watch her experience a torrid rain from the top of a tree in the forest. I wanted to study her paintings of each moment. To soak in the emotions she experienced as she discovered and explored each place.

Hand trembling, I grasped hers and held it gently again. “I hope I can see the paintings.” Because that was as close as I’d get to any of it.

She shook her head. “I doubt I’ll ever go. I’ve never left the East Coast.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to say that I’d take her. But no matter how badly I wanted to, that wasn’t a promise I could make.

This very easily could have been the perfect night. Sitting on a breakwater, in the dark, under the stars with Emerson. Sharing deeply personal things. And not only did he listen, but he really heard me. Like he hung on each statement, waiting with bated breath for my next admission. The words that I didn’t say as much as the ones I did. I’d opened up to him more tonight than I had to any other man in my entire life. And he had trusted me with his own vulnerabilities. From there, our conversation was easy, and our shared dreams were a pleasant surprise. It was unlike any date I’d ever been on, and yet it wasn’t a date at all. He’d made that clear.

“We should probably head back.”

Although I didn’t want to agree, he was right. It had to be getting close to midnight. I didn’t want the night to end. I’d never felt like I had the power to bewitch another person, but the way Emerson’s eyes locked on to me? The way he clung to my hand?

Yeah. Tonight felt special.

After I nodded, he released my hand and pulled out his phone, probably to text the car service. Then he stood and helped me to my feet. Once I straightened, my attention got hung up on the pull of the material of his dress shirt against his shoulders. The lines of his lean, sculpted body were hypnotizing. He swiped up the wine bottle and plastic cups, then hooked my shoes over one finger and led me to the wall we’d have to once again hop.

Just like last time, Emerson set the stuff on the wall and then turned to me. I didn’t want to be annoying, but being picked up like that was foreign and strange. I hadn’t been lifted off the ground since I was a child.

My heart pounded out a nervous rhythm, and I found myself twirling a strand of hair in a way I did subconsciously when I was nervous.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. The frown he gave me was full of concern and so foreign on his always content face.

I sighed. This was ridiculous. He acted like he didn’t get that I wasn’t a small girl. “Emerson, I’m not super comfortable being lifted.”

His brows lowered as that frown deepened. “Why?”

Huffing, I flung my arms out. Was he seriously going to make me say it? “You know I’m big, right?” I glanced at the black Oxfords on his feet, cringing at the blunt way I’d phrased the question.

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