Page 47 of Embrace Me Forever

Coco gazes at Blake, dramatically tipping her head back. “Black, duck!”

“Absolutely,” Blake responds with a smile. “Let’s head to the park.”

“You sure it’s safe?” I ask, needing that extra bit of reassurance.

“Whatever it takes to celebrate her courage today, I’ll make it happen,” Blake declares, his voice firm with resolve.

As we stroll through the park, the pond ahead is a peaceful scene dotted with ducks that glide across the water. I scatter some breadcrumbs, watching Coco’s delight as the ducks gather eagerly. The rustling of the leaves and distant laughter from other park-goers wrap around us.

The day’s weariness is creeping into my bones, and it must show because Blake soon draws near. “Hey, let me take her for a bit,” he suggests.

Coco, now cradled in Blake’s strong arms, looks up at him and exclaims with a grin, “Raff!”

I laugh. “I think she’s saying you’re tall like a giraffe.”

Blake joins me in laughter. “Want to be even taller?” Without missing a beat, he hoists her onto his shoulders. Coco’s laughter bubbles up, filling the air as she reaches for the sky, perched high above us with Blake’s hands securely behind her like a backrest.

We leave the pond, heading to the other part of the park, Coco riding high on Blake’s shoulders, her excitement infectious. She points at everything from this new, lofty perspective, her joy so vivid it seems to touch everyone around us, drawing smiles from passing strangers.

“Thanks for doing this, Blake,” I say.

“Hey, don’t mention it,” he replies as we keep walking. He clears his throat. “Look, Georgia-May, can we talk?”

It’s a standard line, but the softness in his tone, the seriousness, hints at sentimental concerns, setting my nerves on edge. “Sure.”

As if sensing the shift in mood, I notice Coco, still perched on Blake’s shoulders, has slumped forward, her head resting against his.

“She’s asleep, isn’t she?” Blake murmurs, holding as still as a statue, his eyes lifting in an attempt to see her, but of course, he can’t really check from his angle.

“Yeah,” I answer, touched by the tender scene above me.

He looks almost comical, trying to peer up without moving, fearful of waking her. The way he cares so deeply makes him all the more lovable in this light.

Carefully, Blake lifts Coco from his shoulders and secures her in the pram. We then find a nearby bench, the afternoon sun dimming behind the clouds. It feels like the right moment for whatever Blake has on his mind, with Coco sleeping peacefully nearby, blissfully unaware of the grown-up conversations.

Blake turns to me, his hand still resting on the stroller handle between us.

“So, what’s on your mind?” I nudge, trying to make it easier for him to start.

“Can you hear me out for a bit?” he asks, looking earnest. “Just with an open mind?”

“Of course,” I promise, my tone calming.

He exhales slowly and then starts, “It’s about Flo—Florence.” He pauses, almost hesitant. “She was my first love back in high school. I swore I’d marry her someday, and I did, right after the police academy. She was this amazing baker, you know? Made the most incredible birthday cakes.”

I smile, feeling a tug to just reach over and squeeze his hand to show him he’s not alone. But I resist, letting him have his space.

“My stint as a trooper didn’t last long; it was pretty uneventful, then they decided I might do better playing detective. That was quite the ego boost, being one of the youngest detectives in Alaska,” Blake scoffs. “I was so caught up in the thrill that I even turned down a modeling gig in Paris. Can you believe that?”

I laugh, eyeing him with a playful skepticism. “Really? Giving up a life of champagne and runway shows? That’s a sacrifice!”But really, it’s no surprise his impossibly stunning face caught the attention of a scout.

He grins, shrugging nonchalantly. “Yeah, well, Flo was more disappointed than I was. But me? Modeling? That’s a world of empty promises. You might end up just posing for some catalog in a dingy studio. Plus, parading around in tighty-whities isn’t exactly my style.”

Imagining Blake in a minimalist chic photoshoot, perhaps clad in a pair of super snug Calvins, I can’t help but feel a quivering heat spreading through me.

He shoots me a look, half-amused, half-warning, clearly not eager to wander down the underwear discussion path any further.

“Anyway,” he says. “First, we moved from Seward to Anchorage, but soon, that wasn’t enough for me. One of my buddies had moved to California, and he wouldn’t stop talking it up. How being a PI there was the gig of a lifetime. Always in demand, good pay, the works. But Flo, she didn’t want to move, so I stayed for her sake.”

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