Page 86 of Heart to Heart
“How did you manage to get them to clear the zoo for the day?” I asked, breaking our hug. He reached out to take my hand as we strolled down the walkway. It felt natural, walking with him hand-in-hand.
“I’d like to tell you there are just that many Tristan Tate fans out there, but it wasn’t me.”
“Ah. Fans of the show.”
“No,” he answered matter-of-factly, “fans of Avery Martin.”
“Yeah, right,” I scoffed, looking up at him and expecting him to laugh right along with me. Except he wasn’t. He was dead serious. “Why?”
“You’re joking, right?” He stopped short of a fork in the path, one brick walkway curving to the Wild Africa exhibit and another walkway curving to the animals of North America. He cupped my cheek with his other hand, gently tilting my head to look up at him. “Avery, people love you. They have since this season started. What I don’t understand is why you don’t see that.”
People love me. People? Not him?
“Tristan,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “there’s so much I want to tell you.”
He nodded. “And I, you. But not right now.” He looked up, and I followed his eyes to the camera situated behind us, taking us in like a ravenous vulture stalking a dying animal. “There arecertain things I can control,” he muttered, “but it’s stillHeart to Heart. We’ll have more privacy tonight.”
Privacy.
Tonight.
The way Tristan spoke those two innocuous words sent a rush of heat to places I wanted him to become far more intimate with.
Don’t get horny at the zoo, Avery.
“So,” Tristan said, getting back intoHeart to Heartheartthrob mode, “as you can see, we have two paths we can take. To the left, we have path number one.” He gestured toward the path leading to the North American exhibit like Vanna White onWheel of Fortune, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop the snort-laugh that followed. He raised an eyebrow, suppressing a laugh while motioning to the sign for the Wild Africa exhibit. “And then there’s path number two. I’ll have you know that I have it on good authority that path number two just may have baby lemurs somewhere down it.”
I gasped, remembering the questionnaire and all the questions that seemed wholly unnecessary and irrelevant to a reality dating show, including my favorite animal. “My God, that questionnaire. What did producers do, study it down to the letter?”
“No, but I did.” He smiled, squeezing my hand. “Baby lemurs it is, then?”
“I’m sorry, is that even a question?”
“I guess not.”
Hauling Tristan like a tugboat pulling a cruise ship, I power-walked down the path to Wild Africa, stopping only to take in the sight of Peanut, the Zoo’s elderly African Bush Elephant, who, like every other two-legged, red-blooded woman in the country, took a liking to Tristan, sticking her trunk through the fence to smell him. She started with his hair. Her exhales blowing hispolished strands around until they were a sexy mess, eventually moving her trunk around his body and lingering a little too long in certain places for his liking.
“I’m beginning to feel violated here, Peanut,” he said, though it came out as more of a nervous laugh that anyone would have when trying not to offend an animal that could crush them with a single swipe. Staking her claim, Peanut wrapped her trunk around his waist, pulling him closer to the bars of the fence.
“I don’t blame her,” I said, amused. If I were going to lose Tristan to any other woman, Peanut would be my first choice.
“Okay, girl.” He patted the elephant’s trunk until she loosened her grip. “That’s a good girl.”
Lucky elephant.
“You’re going to have to let me go now. I’m with a date, and she may start to get jealous.”
Peanut looked at me, and I’ll be damned if she didn’t scowl. Disgusted with Tristan’s choice in women, she let him go, but not before receiving a final pat from him as he said his goodbyes.
“Nice meeting you, Peanut,” I called out to her, taking Tristan’s hand to head back down the path. As we walked away, I glanced back at her, noticing that she stood watching us, her trunk raised into the air when she saw me looking back at her, which I took as either a wave goodbye or an elephant’s version of flipping the bird.
“Wait here.” Tristan jogged up to the door of a small building near the Lemur Exhibit, knocking on its solid white exterior. Several seconds went by until the door was opened, revealing a zoo employee dressed in a beige polo shirt with the Zoo’s logo emblazoned on the front and black work pants. After greeting the brunette, he waved for me to come over.
“I hear you’re a lemur fan,” the woman greeted me when I stepped inside the small building. Inside, the layout looked similar to an animal hospital, with counters lined with bottlesof solutions and sterile cleaning products near a sink that rested against a block wall, painted white to match the exterior. On the opposite end of the building, cages were positioned in front of a large picture window.
“Is this a nursery?” I asked, remembering a video I’d watched on YouTube.
“It sure is,” the woman whose nametag identified her as Julie, answered.
