Page 117 of Can't Help Falling

Tyler and Fin had sex during the daylight hours only, when Kylie was at school. Fin had never been more grateful to have a job where she made her own hours. The hours of one to three p.m. took on a dozy, sexy, lip-biting, sheet-pulling, color-blurring quality that Fin had never before experienced.

The end of February was surprisingly warm, and one week into March there were already tulips crowning in the tree wells. March was a notoriously cruel month in Brooklyn, known for holding out handfuls of candy to unsuspecting citizens and then snatching the candy away, only to shove six inches of snow down their pants. Or at least, that was always how it had felt to Fin.

But the ides of March came and went, and there was no sign of ice. One Saturday morning was warm enough, in the sun at least, that Tyler texted Fin asking if she’d like to join them for a good old-fashioned Prospect Park blanket day. It was a spring tradition after all.

Which was how Fin found herself stretched out on Tyler’s king-sized (of course) picnic blanket, a box of bagels and cream cheese at her feet, a sparkling water in one hand, watching the clouds. Every twenty seconds or so, a frisbee floated through her line of vision as Tyler and Kylie stood on either side of the blanket and tossed it back and forth.

Snoozy from the sun, Fin watched the big cumulus clouds accumulate and puff away above her. It was one of the many things she missed about Louisiana: how tall the clouds were there. They were mile-high monstrosities that only seemed to move in one direction: up. They showed anyone who cared to look exactly the path to heaven. The clouds in New York were usually flatter, grayer, like a wool cap pressed too far down over a forehead.

But not today.

Today they were tooth-white and buoyant, making Fin feel just how small the earth really was.

She took it as a sign. Today was the day.

Who could keep love quiet on a day when the clouds flirted with the blueberry sky like that?

A shadow crossed her vision, something bumped her shoulder rather hard and then an apple crunched in her ear.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ’bout?” Tyler asked as he sprawled out next to her, bouncing his foot across the opposite knee like a toddler at nap time.

She couldn’t help but laugh. Ladies and gentlemen, the man I love.

“Hey, Ty?”

“Yeah?” he answered Kylie, who was kneeling on one end of the picnic blanket, packing her bag up and pointedly not looking at the way Tyler’s head had decided to rest on Fin’s belly.

Kylie generally played the blindfold game whenever Fin and Tyler were close enough to trade DNA.

“Tony just texted me. He and some other school people are up by the Grand Army Plaza entrance. Mind if I go?”

Play it cool. Fin tried her hardest to transmit this direct order into Tyler’s brain. Not only was she about to go hang out with friends her own age, she was willingly asking Tyler for permission to go do it. Don’t blow this.

Tyler lifted his head. “Is it a date?”

Fin nearly face-palmed.

Kylie blushed all the way up to the ball cap she’d screwed onto her head that morning. “No. Anthony and I are just friends.”

“Oh.” Tyler scratched at his stubbled chin and looked back and forth between Fin and Kylie, apparently trying to interpret the eye roll they were giving each other. “Okay. Just let me know if you leave the park.”

“Bye.”

Kylie turned on her heel and practically jogged up the bike path toward her friends.

“Something tells me I should feel like a doofus right about now,” Tyler said, crunching the apple and resting back against Fin’s stomach.

“I’m in love with you.”

Tyler jolted, coughed up a bite of apple and rolled onto all fours. He loomed over Fin, blocking out the sun and framing himself perfectly in a crown of fluffy cumulus clouds. “Do me a solid and repeat what you just said.”

“I’m in love with you.”

He choked on the apple again. “You’re going to kill me,” he said dimly, sitting back on his heels.

“Well, quit taking bites of apple right before I tell you I’m in love with you.” She sat up too, wondering if her smile looked as dopey as it felt.

He made a choking sound again, but this time there was no apple to make a threat on his life. “I—” His hands went to his hair. “Holy cow.”

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