Page 52 of The Boyfriend Material Novellas

A dessert, a drink, a treat.

You don’t get to have chocolate for every meal. But you damn well better delight in it when you do.

With her hand in mine, we cross the bridge over the river, passing tourists snapping selfies. We could take a picture. We could exchange numbers. Share the image. But then what?

Trade little texts while she’s in New York going to school and I’m an ocean away?

Instead, I squeeze her hand and I focus on the here and now. Only that. Taking mental snapshots. Making memories I can call up. Something I do little of in my digital life. But I want to live fully in this incredible, real moment. “This is the most perfect day. I just want you to know that.”

She smiles at me, and it makes my heart flip.

That’s unexpected.

Frankly, a little inconvenient too.

Because that’ll make it harder to get on the plane. And I have to get on the plane.

“I know that,” she says in a bit of a whisper.

“And do you know what would make it even better?” I ask, continuing down this carpe diem path because it’s all I can do here.

“Is there anything that could truly make it better?” she asks, a little tease in her tone.

The sound of her voice, a little naughty, a little flirty, winds through me. “Well, therearea few things.”

Her eyes dance with dirty thoughts. “I can think of a few things too.”

“More than a few,” I add.

“Lots. So many things.’’

I groan. “You’re going to make this day quite hard. But truth be told, I was thinking we should walk around the Luxembourg Gardens.”

She lifts her chin, licks her lips, and says, “Take me there.”

How can a woman sound innocent and naughty at the same time? But she does. She absolutely does, and I love it madly.

* * *

We wander through all sorts of flowers. I don’t know the names. Or the kinds. Maybe they are irises or lilies. Possibly tulips.

Marley seems to know them all, as we walk through rows of flowers, bursting with color, ruby red and bright pink and sun-drenched yellow.

She rattles off the names, but not like we’re in botany class. More like “I’ve always loved irises” or “Tulips are nature’s flirts.”

“Are you a tulip?” I ask.

She spins around, wiggles her eyebrows. “What do you think?”

It’s a loaded question, and I’m pretty sure I know the answer.

I step closer, inches away. The air is charged, buzzing with possibilities. Somewhere beyond the walls of the garden, the city rolls by.

But here, the garden is an escape with a woman I didn’t know mere hours ago. A woman I will say goodbye to in another few hours.

A woman who has lips that look so damn kissable.

“Right now,” I say, holding her gaze, “I’m not thinking.”

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