Page 55 of 1 Last Shot

"Yes, it's your hundred pounds that are going to make us drop into the water, not my two hundred plus," I say dryly.

Something about my response emboldens her, gives her the green light to move past the need for seriousness. I knew she'd make the vibe light and fluffy again at some point, but seeing the way her eyelids lower and her gaze travels over my body, it looks like she's emboldened for an entirely different reason.

"Two hundred?" she asks in a purr. "You were looking a little more than that today. It looked like you've grown a few extra muscles since the last time I saw you shirtless."

I quirk an eyebrow. "Didn't realize you were checking me out thenornow, princess."

"It's pretty impossible not to," she whispers, her cheeks heating.

I take pity on her and step forward to lower myself into the hammock below. I'm focusing all of my energy on not breaking this fucking thing and falling into the river, and I'm not even a little surprised when I hear Isabella giggle.

"Don't you dare laugh," I growl, freezing in place the second all my weight is on the hammock. "If I go down, I'm dragging you with me."

"And here I thought chivalry was dead," she says on a laugh.

"Trust me, princess, my brand of chivalry is a little different," I say as I finally work up the nerve to lean back into a comfortable sitting position. It must shock Isabella into silence because she doesn't respond, just climbs down onto the hammock beside me.

We don’t talk. For a few minutes, we’re done with talking. We simply sit with each other, staring out at the city, and take in the sounds of the waves and the feel of the wind on our faces. It takes me those few minutes to work up the nerve to ask what I want to ask.

"Can you do me a favor?" I ask eventually, my voice like gravel.

"Anything," she whispers, without even a second's hesitation.

I swallow roughly, swallow down all the doubts and fears and nerves. "Can you tell me what it was like growing up in a normal family? Just… a happy memory or something."

I see her close her eyes for a moment, breathing through who knows what kind of emotion. I force down the worry that it's pity.

"Well," she starts, opening her eyes and smiling happily out at the water. "My favorite memories were always when my whole family would go to the pool in the summertime. My mom would usually take me, but the best days were when my dad would come with us, too. He'd play with me all day, and throw me around in the water, and then when we'd stop for lunch, my mom always brought a picnic basket for us. The three of us would sit and eat and then I'd pass out on a towel in the shade, feeling blissfully happy like only a kid can. Those were my favorite days."

I try to imagine what that’s like: not just having a parent that wants to play with their kid, but having a parent that actually takes steps to take care of them.

I can't.

Eventually, the only thing I can get out is a quiet, "That sounds perfect."

"But I had bad memories too, you know," she continues, as ifthatdoesn't drive a chill through my body. I stiffen and turn toward Isabella with a frown.

"This one time, Allie Mendoza invited me to her eighth birthday party at a nail salon," Isabella chirps, oblivious to my mounting rage. "But my mom said I was too young to have painted nails, so she didn't let me get mine done. So, I'm pretty sure my trauma is worse than yours."

For a moment, I can only blink, thrown off by the story whiplash. Then, once her comment registers, every muscle in my body relaxes and I let out a deep laugh.

Isabella peeks up at me with a smile from where she's sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees. She seems relieved.

"That's definitely worse than mine, princess," I say with a chuckle. "I'm surprised you survived that. You must've been the strongest girl in first grade."

"Well, obviously," she says with a proud smile. And when she leans her head on my shoulder, it doesn't even occur to me to put space back between us.

We talk for a while. Longer than I’ve ever talked to anyone. We talk about everything, and nothing. We talk about unimportant details, and embarrassing memories.

She tells me about the time her lemonade spilled on the school bus seat when she was in first grade, about how the sixth grade boys saw and teased her for ‘peeing on herself.’

I tell her about the time I asked a girl in my elementary class to be my girlfriend, and she thought I was joking.

I listen more than I talk, but Isabella seems to be okay with that. And it gives me the chance to just sit with her and enjoy her company. There's no rush to get anywhere, no pressure to act a certain way, I can just… be with her.

Because when I'm with her, I don't have to think about the past, don't have to worry about the future, I can just be here, in the moment, with her.

After a while, I stretch out my stiff muscles and say, "Not that I don't like this secret meditation spot, princess, but these ropes are cutting into my ass and the wind is seeping into my bones."

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