Page 17 of Love is a Roller Coaster

She wrinkles her nose. “Vans?”

“Yes, Vans. But not just any Vans.”

She furrows her brows in curiosity, then takes the box from my hands. Slowly, she opens it and unwraps the tissue paper covering the shoes. Her eyes widen as she gets her first look at the shoes. “What…what are these?”

“They’re hand painted.” I take the box from her, set it on the ground, and hand the shoes to her so she can examine them more closely.

She looks over the shoes, which have been painted meticulously with her favorite characters—Cinderella and Rapunzel. The Rapunzel shoe has her lifting a lantern from the scene on the boat with Flynn, and the Cinderella shoe has her holding up a bubble while she’s mopping the floor.

Yes, I may have rewatched both movies over the last five years.

Many times.

She still hasn’t said anything, and I’m not sure what she’s thinking. Is this too much? Did I overdo it?

“I hope your feet haven’t changed size in the last five years,” I say, lightnessin my tone.

Finally, she looks up and meets my eyes. “You got these five years ago?”

I shrug. “Kind of blew any semblance of savings on them. But thank goodness I got them back then, because her prices have gone up like crazy. I got them commissioned when we were together during those two weeks, hoping that you’d come back a few months later and we’d go to Disneyland together and I’d surprise you with them, and then…”

Her eyes soften. “And you’ve held onto them this whole time?”

I shrug and shove my hands in my pockets, like a little boy who admitted his crush on the babysitter.

“Thank you,” she says softly. “This is…” She looks down at the shoes again, her cheeks flushed. She’s blinking back tears. She lifts her chin to look at me again and smiles. “Thank you.”

I nod. “I’m just glad I have the chance to give them to you.”

She takes them over to the stairs and sits down, removing her sandals. “I don’t have any socks,” she says.

I pull a pair of low-cut white socks out of my back pocket. “I brought these just in case. Don’t worry, they’re brand new.”

She smiles widely, and my chest tightens. I hand her the socks and watch as she puts them on, then tries on the shoes. She stands and takes a few steps, looking down at her shoes the entire time. “They’re perfect!” she exclaims.

Now it’s my turn to grin. “I’m so glad.” Phew. Thank goodness, because these cost a few hundred dollars, and it was back when I was barely making minimum wage.

She scurries over to me and wraps me in an enormous hug, tucking her head into my chest. “Thank you. This is one of the most meaningful gifts I’ve ever received.”

I hold her tightly in my arms, reveling in her citrus scent and remembering exactly how well we fit together. “You’re welcome.” I press a tiny kiss to the top ofher head, but pull away once I realize that I’m not supposed to be doing anything romantic with her. So I take a step back and clap my hands once. “All right, ready to go?”

She nods, bouncing a few times on the tips of her toes. “Yes!”

After a quick stopfor breakfast burritos, we drive to Disneyland. We talk about surface things, like which rides she wants to go on and which shows she’s hoping to see. I fill her in on some things I want to point out later, like the real human skull on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, and the cats owned by the park that roam around the rides in Fantasyland, and she hangs on my every word.

It’s fascinating how this woman, who works so hard to present a picture-perfect, sophisticated image of herself, has this innocent, child-like side hidden underneath. I absolutely adore it. I wonder how many people she lets see this side of her. Don’t get me wrong, I love when she’s all dressed to the nines. The dresses and heels she picks would make a man want to propose on the spot.

Which, again, tells me that her ex-fiancé was a complete idiot. She’s gorgeous, put-together, and sophisticated, but there’s so much beneath the surface that makes her so…real.

Mayberealisn’t what he was looking for.

We park and take the bus over to the park, then get into the line for security. It’s only seven fifteen, and we’re able to pass through quickly since we don’t have a stroller or kids, just a backpack for each of us. Hers is tiny, just enough for her wallet and phone. When it’s my turn, I notice her peeking to see what’s inside my pack.

“Snacks,” I say. “And water bottles.”

“Ah. I probably should’ve thought of that.”

“You can always buy stuff here, but the prices are ridiculous.”

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