Page 85 of Waiting for Her

“Hey, it’s not my fault – Mia was the one who reminded me that everyone called us Brady back in the day!”

“Yeah, when it was popular to combine names. This isn’t 2010, you know.”

I grin. “No,” I tell her, voice low and husky. “We’re definitely older, wiser…” I trail my lips along the column of her neck, her breathing shallow. “Everythingwill be better now.”

She shudders and opens her mouth to say something but no words come out. “I think I’m going to need a moment before we go inside,” she tells me, her head nodding to the restaurant in front of us.

I pull on the latch to my door and walk around the front of the pickup, open her door and extend a hand. “Enough time?”

“I’m afraid there will never be enough time,” she says, and I can’t stop my heart from reading into those words.

“No. There never will.”

I thread our fingers together and head into the restaurant my uncle James swears by—says he took his wife Carly to on their first date. As we sit at the best table in the house James secured for me, we watch the sun setting over the lake. We eat and talk, laughing about everything and nothing, but not about the past. Because the past? Behind us.

“One more stop,” I tell her after I sign the credit card slip and slide my wallet back into my pocket.

“What are you up to?” she asks.

“You’ll see.”

The smile can’t be wiped from my face as I lead her back to my pickup, open her door, and help her inside. She’s perfectly capable, obviously, but I’m not about to overlook an opportunity to have my hands on her.

A few minutes later, I’m parking in a familiar lot.

“It’s so much smaller than I remember,” she says in awe.

“I know. Though, to be fair, we weren’t exactly big when we were here.”

“True, true. How’d you manage this?” she asks, as we walk onto our old elementary school playground, I’m a little sad to see the old equipment has since been replaced with all new stuff. Better, safer, more than likely.

“The great Grady Ryan? Football hero? Poster boy of this town?” I tease.

She rolls her eyes, not at all impressed. “I promised the principal seats for opening day,” I admit, and she laughs.

“Sounds a little more accurate.”

She runs through the broken up black rubber on the ground beneath the equipment and jumps onto a swing, kicking her legs out immediately so she begins to soar into the night sky. After playing football with my friends and me, the swings were always her favorite.

I give her one hard push, doing an underdog and feeling a little proud of myself for not even sneaking a peek up her dress. Her laughter rings through the empty playground, bringing back so many memories at once.

I sit in the swing next to her, kicking my legs out to start swinging too. The evening so perfect I wish we could bottle it up and never let it end.

“I bet I can jump farther than you,” I joke, remembering how when we were little she would always try to jump off the swings out farther than me.

“Ugh, you’ll never let me live it down, will you?”

“Nope. Not a chance. You were like a Great Dane trying to be a lap dog. You never did let your height, or lack thereof, get in your way.” I chuckle as she guffaws.

“You ass! I can’t help it!”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing. I like you being pocket sized.”

We swing for a few minutes before… “I dare you.”

I glance over, knowing she’s never been able to let a dare go by.

She glares then looks down at her dress and rolls her eyes before grumbling, “Fine. What are the terms?”

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