Page 18 of Just a Distraction

“Milo,” she warns. “I can’t believe all the trouble I’ve caused you. Please.”

“It hasn’t been any trouble, it’s been . . . amazing. I’ve had a great time with you.” I pause, flipping on the turn signal to drive another block. “I’ll take you back to your car, but can I stickaround long enough to make sure you’re okay? To make sure he’s not still waiting around for you?”

“Yes,” she whispers, and the sigh she gives is low. Bone deep.

“Is he . . . is he your ex or something?” I ask quietly as I do a U-turn when the traffic clears.

“How’d you guess?” Her tone is dry and sarcastic, but there’s a hitch there. This is a painful subject.

I can’t explain why, but now I’m wishing I’d hit him harder. Or followed it up with another one to the gut.

Maybe they just broke up and she hasn’t had time to find a new job? Maybe that’s why she seems to be a glutton for punishment. In any case, she was right about this being complicated.

Halfway back to Casa del Cibo, she places a hand on my arm. A pallor of uneasiness simmers in her eyes for a brief moment, and then she smiles wryly. “Want to go play?” She points to the park off to the left.

Relief floods me. I didn’t want this night to end yet. So much has happened that it would seem wrong to part ways now. It would be like losing a beloved novel halfway through reading it and never being able pick it up again. No resolution.

Without a word, I slow and signal to turn. I’ve barely put the car in Park when she pushes the door open and squeals. “Race ya!”

Running ahead of me, her hair down and flying, her sensible waitress shoes clopping along the wood chips, she’s laughing again.

She grabs the chains of a plastic-bottomed swing and slings herself down into it. It’s so low to the ground that her knees press tightly together and hunch up. She rests the chain against her shoulder so she can remove the hair out of her face.

She’s gorgeous, and I have to remind myself not to stare.

I grab the swing next to her and find the seat is only attached to one side of the chain.

“I’ll give you a turn when I’m done,” she says.

“It’s fine. I haven’t gotten on a swing in years. I’d probably accidentally hang myself.”

“It’s been years, huh?” She presses her lips closed for a moment and then opens them to continue. “How old are you?”

I chuckle and fold my arms over my chest, facing her as she walks the swing forward and back. “Almost twenty-five. And you?”

She hesitates. “Just barely turned twenty-five. This has been a crazy night, huh?”

“It has.” I wait until she meets my gaze. I survey her. She looks vulnerable sitting there. “I’d love to learn more about you, Rose. Tell me about yourself.”

When she scoffs, I whisper and beg, “Please?”

“Not with you standing there, staring at me. I feel like a little kid like this.” She rocks forward and back on the balls and heels of her feet. “This swing will probably make my back hurt, but I’m enjoying it until then.”

“I can push you, if you want.”

She levels her stare. “No. No way.”

I hold up my hands. “Okay. Understood. No pushing you in swings. I’ll just use this one.” I move to pretend like I’m climbing into the baby swing on the other side of her, grabbing the chain and pulling it toward me.

“I’d like to see you try.” Her laugh is good-natured. “You ever been to this park before?”

“Nope. It’s my first time. You?”

“I actually have. I grew up in the neighborhood one over from here. My siblings and I used to come here sometimes.”

“Aw. Little kid Rose. I can see it now. Did people call you Rosie?”

The corner of her tongue flicks out of the side of her mouth. “Sometimes, but I shut that down when I turned eighteen.”

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