Page 119 of Take This Heart
The next night I stand alone in the dim gallery, shifting from foot to foot like an awkward teenager waiting for his prom date to walk down the stairs. I’m sweating. It feels like it’s been months since I’ve seen Goldie, and even longer since I had her in my bed.
The Walker is quiet. Just the low hum of the lights and my pulse thudding in my ears. I had music ready! Damn, I almost forgot. I hurriedly pull up my playlist and Bluetooth it so the sound goes over the speakers throughout the gallery. I keep checking the entrance, wondering if she’s going to come.
Right at seven, she walks through the door.
She looks hesitant and beautiful. She’s wearing the emerald green dress she was wearing the night I met her and it makes me smile. I want to kiss that bare shoulder and slide my hands over her curves, sink my face in her hair and inhale. I look down and there are the Dr. Martens.
“I can’t believe I never asked,” I say.
“Asked what?”
“What you meant when I asked if you make it a habit of wearing Doc Martens with your evening gowns and you saidyou do now…I wondered what you meant that night, but I never asked. What did that mean?”
She takes a minute to answer. “They’re my mom’s boots. She stopped wearing heels because they hurt her feet and I wear these every chance I get because they remind me of her.”
“I like that.”
I hold my arm out and she loops her hand through it. We wind our way through the gallery.
“I’ve missed you,” I tell her.
“I’ve missed you too.” Her lips lift slightly and she gives me a tentative look.
“You look beautiful.” I reach out and smooth a strand of her blonde hair around my finger.
“How is your hair already half an inch long?”
I smirk, rubbing my hand over the stubble. “My dad would say it’s my Italian heritage, and my mom would say it’s my French heritage. Who can really say?”
“It’s growing faster than my brothers’. Maybe both of your parents are right and you’re blessed with doubly-good hair genes.”
“My parents would be very pleased with your diplomatic reasoning.”
Her lips lift slightly. “Where are you taking me, Milo?”
“We’re almost there.” I stop where we first met, only so much has changed since then. “Remember this spot?” I smile as she looks around and her eyes narrow when she sees the architectural model.
I move to block her view before she gets a better look at it.
“I wanted to tell you how much I care about you…well, it’s more than that…I love you, Goldie Whitman.”
Her mouth parts and she blinks up at me.
“I love you,” I say, stronger this time. “When you smile at me, when you’re mad at me, when you won’t let me get away with anything…I love how you look at me, spar with me, how you kiss me, how you make me feel alive every second we’re together.” I take a deep breath and a tear slips down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb. “I know it’ll take time to earn your trust, but I’m not going anywhere. I promise to be honest with you, and part of that honesty means telling you how I feel.” My voice is raspy and I clear my throat. “Maybe this will say it better than I am.”
I move out of the way and turn to the model.
“You’re saying it pretty great.” She smiles then turns to look at the model and gasps. “Milo. This is…this is Windhaven…outside the pavilion.”
“Since my other work was a travesty, I thought I’d make it right for you?—”
She laughs and glances up at me apologetically, which makes me laugh too.
“—And in a place where you can enjoy it. If anything isn’t just right, we can change it when it comes to the real thing.”
She leans over so she can get a better look at each sculpture. There’s a brick path winding around the pavilion and flowers on either side, wild and beautiful, just like her. And the sculptures accentuate the beauty of the landscape with their simplicity, which is all Goldie.
“Is that a marigold?” she asks, her finger pausing on the metal flower that turns like a windmill.
