Page 47 of One Night in Glasgow
Our knuckles brushed, once, then twice. It was such a small point of contact, but it sent a shockwave straight to my chest. This was different from the desperate, hungry grabs in the pub or my hotel room. This was quiet. Public. A simple statement. The next time her fingers grazed mine, I just turned my palm up, an unspoken invitation. She didn't hesitate, just slipped her hand into mine, lacing her fingers through. It felt... foundational. Like we'd just signed a contract no one else could see.
“So,” I gestured toward the park entrance with my free hand, “ready for the full tourist experience?”
“Lead on, my dear tour guide.” Her Scottish lilt wrapped around the words like honeyed whisky, smooth and intoxicating.
We wandered through the park, and I found myself hamming it up by the Alice in Wonderland sculpture.
“Check it out. Alice looks like she just realized she left her phone in Wonderland,” I quipped, striking an exaggerated pose of horror.
Beth’s laugh rang out, rich and uninhibited. “And the Mad Hatter’s probably using it to order UberEATS to the tea party.”
“Exactly! Poor White Rabbit’s stuck paying the delivery fee.”
The summer sun lit up her red hair, making it blaze likefire. The simple blue sundress was a hell of a contrast to her fiery energy, and the effect was…arresting. When she really laughed, like she did then, she was absolutely captivating.
The sound of jazz drew us toward a group of street musicians. A saxophone wailed soulfully. Acting on pure instinct, I pulled Beth close. “Dance with me?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Here? Now?”
“Why not? Live a little dangerously…but not too dangerously,” I added with a wink.
She gave a playful eye roll before stepping into my embrace, her body fitting against mine with a familiarity that defied logic. Right there on the park path, surrounded by the oblivious city, we found our own rhythm. Her cheek settled perfectly into that sweet spot between my neck and shoulder, and a profound sense of calm washed over me.
“This is nice,” she murmured.
“Just nice?” I teased, spinning her out and back into my arms. Her delighted giggle was all the answer I needed.
The horses caught Beth’s eye, and her face brightened with such a genuine, unguarded delight that I knew I’d pay anything to keep that look there. Moments later, we were settled in a horse-drawn carriage, the rhythmic clop of hooves against pavement providing the quintessential New York soundtrack.
Beth nestled against my side as the carriage rocked us gently, the golden hour sunlight bathing the city in a warm, hazy glow. It was a perfect, almost cinematic moment. If I were scripting a movie, this would be the part with the swelling orchestra. Cheesy as hell, but damn if it didn’t feel right.
I caught her staring at me, and in her killer blue eyes, I saw more than just the reflection of the city lights. I saw the same question that was echoing in my own chest: Is this real? I knewI had to answer it. My hand moved on its own accord, coming up to cup her cheek, my thumb gently tracing the soft curve of her bottom lip. Her skin was like silk under my touch, and she leaned into my palm, her eyes fluttering for a split second.
“Beth,” I whispered, the name a raw, needy thing on my lips as I leaned in.
When our lips met, it wasn’t a frantic crash. It was a slow, deliberate claiming. A question and an answer all at once. For a beat, it was just a soft, searching pressure—a confirmation. Yes, this is real. Yes, I’m here. Yes, I want this.
Then the heat ignited.
A low sound, something between a sigh and a growl, rumbled in my chest. Her fingers tangled in my hair, not gently, but with a desperate, possessive grip, pulling me closer as if she was afraid, I might disappear again. I answered her silent plea with my own hunger, my tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she parted them with a soft gasp, giving me everything.
The clop of the horse’s hooves, the distant city sirens, the chatter of tourists, it all faded into a dull hum. The only things that were real were the taste of her, a mix of the coffee we’d shared and something uniquely, intoxicatingly Beth; the scent of her hair; and the little hitches in her breath every time I changed the angle of the kiss. This wasn’t just a kiss; it was a conversation, an argument, and a treaty all signed in a single, desperate moment. It was every unspoken word from Glasgow, every moment of frustration from my search, every ounce of hope I’d been clinging to, all poured into this one, undeniable connection.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathless and shaken, the world rushed back in, but it seemed different now, sharper, the colors more vivid. I rested my forehead againsthers, trying to anchor myself to the moment. Her eyes fluttered open, and in their bright, clear depths, I saw the raw reflection of my own soul—desire, hope, and a terrifying, exhilarating sense of having finally come home.
“Wow,” she breathed, her voice shaky.
“Yeah,” I agreed, a genuine, slightly dazed grin spreading across my face. “We don’t do things by halves, do we?”
She laughed, a real, full-throated sound, and smacked my chest playfully. “Cocky bastard.”
“You love it,” I teased, my voice still rough as I pulled her closer, settling her back against my side.
The carriage continued its lazy circuit through the park, but I barely noticed the scenery anymore. All I could focus on was Beth, the solid warmth of her against me, the way her hand stayed linked with mine, and the soft, satisfied smile that played at her lips. The sun sank lower, painting Central Park in golden streaks. The whole day had been straight-up magic. One of those rare perfect moments you wish you could bottle up and revisit whenever life gets too real.
“Hungry?” I asked, spotting a cozy-looking Italian place across the street. The warm glow from its windows promised intimacy and good food. “That place looks good.”
Beth’s face lit up. “Starving, actually. I was too nervous about our coffee date to eat lunch.”
