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.
“I like it. It’s really beautiful.” I moved toward one of the stone markings on the wall that was inscribed with Jefferson’s quotes. The carvings stretched several feet above my head.
There was a romantic eeriness wrapping us. Vaughn watched as I moved along the walls, absorbing the words.
“I thought with your appreciation for law it might be meaningful to you.”
I whipped around. “You did?”
“Aren’t you the girl who’s going to change the world around here?”
I closed my eyes. “I’m the girl who used to think that.”
“What happened to her?” The deepness in his voice held me.
“She’s trying to figure things out,” I admitted. “Trying to start over.”
He shoved his hands in the front of his pockets. “Then maybe you need a place here where you can think in silence.”
I smiled. “Maybe I do.”
“Let me show you something else. You’ll like this story.” He tugged my hand.
I followed him down the steps to the water’s edge. We were across from the White House. It looked tiny from this spot.
“Have you ever heard of the Cherry Tree Rebellion?”
“No. What is it?”
He wrapped his arms around my waist, locking them in place firmly against my body. I leaned into him.
“When they started to build the memorial some of the cherry trees needed to be sacrificed for construction.”
I glanced at the trees bordering the park. “But they’re so beautiful.”
“That’s what 150 other women thought too. They chained themselves to the trees and refused to move until the president agreed to have them transplanted instead of destroyed.”
“Really? I’ve never heard that story.”
“Really.”
He pressed his lips to my ear.