Jess shoved her sketch pad into her bag and hurried to catch up with Bran, who was starting down the path toward the middle of the gardens. She hadn’t meant to upset him, but clearly she had. She should have known better than to bring up fatherhood. It was still too raw for him. At the same time, she’d never been more sure that their relationship was destined for a dead end. He really didn’t want a family again, and she did. Being with him, and being around the Fishers had shown her that she did want children of her own. And a partner to share life with. And yet something held her back from saying the words out loud. She could tell Bran all about life not giving guarantees, but she also understood why a person wouldn’t want to set themselves up for potential heartbreak.
After all, she’d been doing it for years.
And still there was Bran to consider. It would be easier to end things right now. Probably smarter, too. But she didn’t want to. Not yet.
“Hey, wait up,” she called, trotting to catch up to him. When she did, she took a deep breath and matched her steps to his. “You gonna be okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
“I overstepped, Bran. I really am sorry.”
He reached down for her hand, a reassuring gesture that touched her heart. “I know you are. And don’t worry about pressing me. It’s good for me. It helps, even when it makes me grumpy.”
Forgiven, she kept her hand in his as they made their way to the large gazebo that was the centerpiece of the gardens. People milled around, and there was a line at a small building to their left, which appeared to house public bathrooms and a small café, complete with ice cream. The large patio area was full of people enjoying the sweet, cold treat. “You want some?” Bran asked.
“Do you?” She wasn’t really hungry, even though they hadn’t had lunch. The big breakfast had been super filling, but could she really pass up ice cream in the park?
“A small one? It looks delicious.”
They detoured into the building and waited in line for the hand-paddled treat. When they got to the front of the line, she chose blueberries and cream for her flavor. Bran went for a more sedate maple walnut, and then they emerged out into the bright sunshine again.
“Let’s find a place to sit,” he suggested. “Someplace with shade. I don’t want to be responsible for you getting a sunburn.”
She was sure the sun had already left a bit of a burn on her shoulders. Her pale complexion meant she burned easily, and she hadn’t thought to bring sunscreen today. “How about up there?” She pointed to the top end of the garden, where there was an open area bordered by benches and leafy trees. There was even a chess table adding character to the area.
“Perfect.”
Her ice cream was starting to melt by the time they got to the benches, and they picked one that was shaded and would remain so as the sun shifted. For several minutes they ate in comfortable silence. Despite the earlier tension, Jess couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so comfortable with someone. They didn’t need to talk. Didn’t need to fill up the space with empty words that meant nothing. She finished her ice cream, and he finished his, and he took their garbage to a nearby trash can. When he came back, he put his arm along the back of the bench, and she relaxed against him, her head resting in the curve of his shoulder.
“People watching,” he said softly. “I love people watching.”
“Ana and I used to make up stories about people,” she offered, a smile touching her lips. “Like that woman there.” She nodded toward a woman several yards away, sitting on an identical bench and reading. “What’s her story, do you think?”
Bran tapped a finger to his lips. “She’s waiting for someone, but he’s late. He’s always late, so she brings a book so she doesn’t look as if she’s waiting.”
“Well, that’s sad. Why does she have to be waiting for a man, anyway?” She lifted her eyebrows. “I think she’s single. Maybe she’s just broken up with someone because she wants to be put first. So she’s putting herself first and spending an afternoon exactly how she wants—in the gardens in the sunshine and with a good book.”
“The heroine of her own life.”
“You bet.” She grinned up at him. “Do you always go for the sad and tragic?”
“Waiting for someone isn’t exactly tragic.”
“I don’t know. Waiting for someone who is chronically late and doesn’t care enough to show up on time... I mean, if someone loves you, they should be impatient. Like they can’t wait for that moment when they see you again. A thirst that needs to be quenched.”
He laughed and squeezed her shoulder a little. “Are you sure you’re not a writer?”
“I’m an observer,” she answered. “Okay, tell me another one.”
He looked around for a moment, then nodded. “That old gentleman there.” The man in question was walking slowly along the path with the aid of a cane. A cap shielded his eyes, and he wore a long-sleeved shirt and pants even though the day was hot. “He comes here every day to walk. He used to come here with his wife, but she’s no longer with him. But it doesn’t matter to him. He’s not sad. He walks and he remembers, and he’s thankful for the years they had together. And when he gets home to his little apartment, he tells her picture about everything he saw. Because she’s still with him.”
She loved the wistful picture he drew with words. “You’re a romantic, Branson Black. Don’t deny it.”
He shrugged. “I suppose I can be. When I’m not murdering people and creating horrible villains.”
“Everyone has a little darkness inside them. It’s all about the choices.”
He was quiet for a few moments.