Page 109 of Electric Touch

“No music, dogs on a leash. You can’t ride a bike or rollerblade through here either. And no sports.”

“I can understand why,” he says quietly. “It might sound strange, especially to you,” he smiles. “But it’s spiritual here.”

“That isn’t strange at all.” Nash turns to me. “Don’t look so surprised,” I nudge him. “I may be a mathematician who believes in absolutes and doesn’t think there is a higher power. I can also believe there are emotions tied to a place by the people who visit it. And I believe that is what Yoko Ono wanted people to feel when they come here.”

His smile is soft when he tips my chin up and kisses me. We stand there for a moment, our lips pressed together. There is nothing obscene or disrespectful about it, only our lips are touching. He rubs his nose against mine before pulling back.

“Give it a couple more hours,” I tell him. “This place will be teeming with tourists. Right now, it’s truly peaceful. Shall we sit?”

Nash follows me to the oval grass area lined with benches opposite the memorial. There are a few people around, but it’s quiet. He hands me my coffee and takes out our pretzels. We sit for a little while and soak up the atmosphere of this place.

“Declan has been driving me crazy for the last couple of days,” he says after a while. He set his cup on the seat beside him and balls up the food bag to shove into his pocket. “I think he’s getting stressed over this tour.”

“Why? He’s your manager. He’s arranged tours before.”

He shrugs. “Maybe because we’re headlining? Before, we’ve been in a group of performing artists or opened for someone else.”

“It is a big deal,” I say, smiling at him.

“Yeah,” he grins. “A very big deal. Everyone is getting excited. Even Ciro is getting hyped.”

Nash takes my hand once I’ve finished my pretzel and wiped my mouth with a napkin. He gets up and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s walk. It’s a nice day.”

We set off at a leisurely pace, and I lean into him as we walk. There is a strange sensation in my stomach thinking about his tour. He will be away for seven full weeks. Which is probably why Riley sent me that picture. She wants me to believe Nash will be with other women when I’m not around.

“So I want to talk to you about the tour,” Nash speaks before I can. “It’s on the west coast, as you know. This may not be possible but, I thought you might want to fly out for one of the shows.”

“Really?” I ask in surprise. That would be amazing, but not possible. “I’m in the middle of a semester,” I remind him.

“I know that, but we have some shows on the weekend. You could fly out on a Friday and head back on Sunday. The label will comp it so don’t worry about paying. And before you roll your eyes or argue, you’d be doing me a favour. I would never ask you to pay.”

“How is that doing you a favour?”

“It won’t be seven weeks without seeing you, if we pick a date in the middle,” he shrugs. “I’d love you to come.”

“As much as I love the idea of it, I’m not sure I can.”

Nash slows down, his brow furrowing. “Is this about Riley? I already told you, things are good right now. We don’t need to worry about her. Besides, Brent will probably hang around, anyway. He’ll keep her occupied. What’s wrong?” We stop altogether.

“We need to talk about Riley.”

“We do?”

“She sent me a text.”

His neck cranes back. “What do you mean, she sent you a text? How did she get your number?”

“That’s kind of irrelevant once you know what she sent.”

His jaw tenses. We have to move out of the way as a group of runners come along the path. Nash puts his arm around me and guides me across the grass towards a large tree. We stop beneath the branches and I look up. Some of them are already turning from green to umber or orange. I love fall, it’s my favourite season. I’m digressing.

“I already know it’s not what it looks like. And what she is trying to achieve by sending it. So please don’t freak out.”

“What the fuck did she send you?”

I take out my phone and open up the picture, turning the phone to show him. Nash clasps his hand around mine on the phone and raises it. His nostrils flare and his lips part. I can see the anger rippling across his features.

“I don’t believe this,” he growls. “Why the hell would she send this to you? And who took the picture?” he looks at me, his face drops. “It’s not what it looks like.”

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