Page 13 of Bittersweet

Romy

Ileadhim to the alley at the side of the café. Mine’s one of only two cars in the parking lot. The hand-me-down BMW sedan looks small next to the SUV parked beside it, the child seat in the back; it must be Bianca’s “mom” van. We hop in my car, and I pull out of the alley and onto the street, heading toward themountains.

As I navigate the early-afternoon traffic, I’m acutely aware of my every movement. I’m close to him—so close. The confined space has increased that sense ofintimacy.

“Water?” Elio asks, handing me abottle.

“Please.” Eagerly, I remove my hand from the wheel and take the bottle. I gulp some down, desperate to have something else to concentrate on aside from how unsexy my lingerieis.

“So, how long have you lived in Colorado Springs?” Elio eventually asks, breaking the silence betweenus.

“All my life. My parents have had the same grand old house ever since I was born, right on the outskirts of town. I used to love spending time in the yard, a gorgeous view of the mountains in the distance . . .” I smile, thinking of days spent playing with Kenna, taking turns to be the princess trapped in the treehouse tower. “When I was a kid, I used to imagine that a white knight would come riding down those mountains and whisk meaway.”

“Why did you needsaving?”

“Oh—” I shoot him a quick glance, but his face is curious, not judging. “I didn’t, really. I think it was just this whole fairy-tale fascination I’ve always had. I used to love Disney movies, princess stories—anything with a happily everafter.”

His eyes crinkle in the corners as he rewards me with a soft smile. “What was yourfavorite?”

“Sleeping Beauty,” I answer withouthesitation.

“Someday my prince will come,” Eliosingsongs.

My jaw drops. “How doyou—”

“Coco.” He grins in return. “And I gotta be honest, Bianca used to love that stuff when we were kids too. I’ve watched enough Disney to earn the title of an honoraryprincess.”

“Wow. I never would have picked you for a closet Disney fan.” I shake myhead.

“Hey! It was in the past,” he protests, laughing. “Do you think that’s why you went into weddings? The whole fairy-tale romanceconcept?”

“What do youmean?”

“Well, isn’t that what every woman wants: to be a princess for a day? Girls grow up on Disney, find their true love, and ride off into the sunset. It’s the basic ending to every Disney film ever made,” Elio says, with just a hint of bitterness in hisvoice.

“I’ve never thought about it like that.” Maybe my fascination with finding happily ever after does stem from princes who likely have hero complexes and princesses who are skilled at keeping house for the verticallychallenged.

Then again, maybe it’s just because my parents pressure me daily to put a ring onit.

“Do you have a favorite Disney movie?” I ask as we turn onto I-25.

“ProbablyThe LionKing.”

“Aha. No dresses.” I nod, and Elio laughs, but this actually makes a lot of sense. Simba was all about that single life until he learned that his family was in danger. Everything I’ve discovered about Elio so far leads me to believe he’d do anything for the ones he loves. “And since you’ve psychoanalyzed me based on my choice of Disney, I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s because of your love of family.” I chance a quick glance at him, taking my eyes off the road for onesecond.

“Hmm.”

“Uh-oh. That does not sound like a happyhmm.”

“So along with nibbling cheese and reading classic literature, I’m also painfully predictable, amI?”

“Some people like predictable,” I mutter, uncertain I really want him to hear me. “Some people like it alot.”

Elio doesn’t say anything, but he smiles, and it’s glorious.I should call him predictable moreoften.

We chat for the rest of the drive, and soon I forget all about the awkwardness between us, the stolen moments at Bittersweet, and the almost kisses. Talking to him here, away from his work and my work and real life, feels easy. Natural. Perhaps we really could be more than we are now, swapping pleasantries for kisses that linger longer than they should, and heated glances that promise more, so muchmore.

I pull into the main lot at the Garden of the Gods, one of the more popular sections of Pikes Peak. Only a few other vehicles remain, no doubt thanks to the late-afternoon hour and the clouds that loom overhead, threatening to open up at anyminute.

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