Vaughn’s hand tucked around my waist. He still hadn’t revealed where we were going. As the car swayed, he applied pressure to my back, making sure I didn’t tip with the momentum. It felt good. It felt safe. As if this man I barely knew had me.
“Should I start guessing?” I asked.
“You could try.”
I pinched my lips together. I didn’t know anything about D.C. other than the most famous national landmarks. Most of them were closed this late in the evening.
“Can you give me clue? Any kind of a hint?”
I looked into his dark eyes. He didn’t give anything away. If he was being playful, I couldn’t tell. There was a seriousness beneath him that never wavered.
“I’d rather show you.”
“All right.” I was ok reveling in the closeness we had on the Metro. How his body almost touched mine. How there was a current running from him to me with invisible wires. And I could stand here and inhale the intoxicating scent from his skin.
Each time the car stopped at another station I looked to Vaughn for a signal that we were going to hop off, but he stood tall, shielding me from anyone who boarded or exited. He was like some kind of body guard, making sure the only person who touched me was him.
Eventually, he pulled my hand from the rod, led me to the sliding doors, and tugged me behind him onto the platform as the bell dinged and the train charged on to the next stop.
I looked at the station. “Smithsonian?”
“This way.”
We took the escalator to the street level. It was quiet.
“Now will you tell me where we are going?” I urged.
“Let’s walk.” Vaughn led me along the sidewalk.
The Washington Monument emerged on our right, towering silently straight into the night. I paused for a moment to take it in, but we turned our backs to it and continued at an easy pace for several blocks. I also realized that we were putting more distance between us and the White House. That had been my first guess for Vaughn’s mysterious night stroll.
As we neared the water, Vaughn’s grip tightened around my palm. The lights from the memorial shimmered on the dark calm of the rippling waves. There was almost no movement at all on the water.
It was dark under the canopy of trees, but as we rounded the circle and made our way to the front columns, I realized why Vaughn had brought me on this route. It was breathtaking.
When we finally stopped walking, he stood back and crossed his arms. “What do you think?”
“I’ve never been here. I’ve seen it fifty times from the road or in pictures, but I’ve never actually been here. It’s beautiful.”
He winked. “It’s my favorite spot.”
We walked together toward the stone steps. “Why the Jefferson Memorial?” I asked. “Not Lincoln? Not the Washington Monument?”
He shook his head with confidence. “One reason—the quiet.”
He was right. There was no one else here.
He took the steps and I followed after him, trying to pick up on every detail of why this place was special to him. Why he had chosen to bring me here instead of trying to impress me with high-end dinner reservations.
“Everyone thinks Lincoln is the place you want to go if you need to think. If you need the wisdom of a man faced with the greatest challenges and adversity. That’s where people go to wade through their moral conscience.”
“It’s not the right one?” I questioned.
“No. Lincoln’s sculpture mastered that on its own. If you look at him, he is already posed to think for you. To take dilemmas of morality from you. This one … this one is different.”
I spun slowly on my heels, rotating just like the rotunda we were standing inside. “And this is where you come to think?”
“Maybe.” He smirked.