Page 117 of The Broken Heart Playlist
“No,” he corrects me. “You’re marching.”
“I’m...striding. It’s good exercise.”
“We’re not here to exercise. That’s a different thing entirely. I asked you to join me on a walk, not a speed race.”
I frown. “But the walk will take twice as long at your pace.”
“That’s the point. We can soak up our surroundings while we enjoy one another’s company.”
Uno nudges my hand. I pet him distractedly.
“But why do something slowly when you can do it quickly?” I ask, trying to make Gideon see reason.
He simply stares at me, a quirk to his lips and a gleam in his eyes. “Not everything has to be rushed, Kate. Some activities are worth doing slowly.”
My cheeks heat under his intense gaze.
“Now come here, woman, and walk by my side.” He circles an arm around my waist and pulls me to him. “I want to hold your hand.”
And he casually takes my hand as if it’s no big deal, weaving his fingers through mine.
“Have you always had a beard?” I ask Gideon as Uno tugs on his leash and makes a beeline for the long-suffering tree at the end of the street, extravagantly marking his territory.
“I’m usually clean-shaven,” he admits. “I’ve only had this beard for the last year or so.”
“Why the change?”
He shrugs. “Something different, I guess.”
“Do you like it?”
“I’ve gotten used to it. More importantly, do you like my beard?”
I go up on my tiptoes and whisper against his lips, “I like the feel of it on my skin.”
His eyes heat. “Do you now?” he murmurs, before capturing my mouth in a long, leisurely kiss.
Gideon’s right, I discover. This relaxed, unhurried way of taking a walk, particularly with pleasurable distractions like kissing along the way, is a lot more fun.
Toward the end of our walk, we bump into Jedediah Clarke, former chain smoker and champion swimmer. At nearly eighty, having lived in Brown Oaks all his life, Jedediah is somewhat of an institution in the town.
The instant he spots us, he snatches up his miniature dachshund and holds the dog tightly to his chest.
“Good evening, Mr. Clarke,” I say brightly, ignoring the scowl on his face.
I once made the mistake of calling him Jedediah and he very quickly dressed me down. “This is Gideon Walker.”
In a quavering voice, Jedediah asks Gideon, “Your dog going to bite my little Maybelleen?”
“Uno doesn’t bite,” Gideon reassures him
Jedediah, however, doesn’t look convinced.
“Uno’s on a leash,” I tell him, and Gideon holds up the leash so he can see for himself.
“You’re not holding it tightly enough.”
Gideon obligingly tightens his grip.
