Slowly I open the door and take her hand. She pushes herself against me, snaking her arms around my neck. All the air leaves my lungs. “You have a habit of doing that. Not that I want you to stop.” I don’t tell her I have to work on controlling the hard-ons she keeps giving me the minute her body touches mine.
She giggles and it’s so fucking sweet I want to remember this moment forever. I feel more alive than I’ve felt for years. My body hums with an energy she’s instilled in me. She’s biting her lip and I take a moment to mimic her gesture.
Staring at her lips, I trace them with my finger. “You ready?” I ask.
She brings her hands up to her covered eyes and I clear my throat. “Not yet.” I slip my hand in hers, my heart thumping at the boundary between happy and happier. Caressing her soft skin, I tug her forward in anticipation. The closer we get, the louder the roar becomes. Cold water plops on us from everywhere and drops glisten against her skin. One falls right on the corner of her lips and when I bend to lick it off, she catches my tongue with her mouth. The heat that arises between us is enough to ward off any chill from the icy water. Panting and out of breath, I slide my fingers up her cheeks and under the stretchy fabric, removing the blindfold and turning her around to see the crystal cascades of the roaring falls. We lean over the railing, both of us silent and staring at Niagara Falls. The air is warm and full of moisture, but the sky is darkening and the slight breeze seems to make her shiver.
“What do you think?” I ask.
When she doesn’t answer, I place my hands on the curve of her hips and turn her back around to face me. We’re chest to chest, and as my gaze meets hers I see tears streaming down her face. “Why are you crying? What is it?”
She shakes her head and manages to say, “They’re happy tears, not sad ones.”
I’m not the kind of guy who cries. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever cried, not even at my dad’s funeral. I may have shed a tear or two for my grandparents, but I swear I have to rely on all the self-control I can muster not to let one slip past me now. The joy I see in her eyes is enough to bring me to my knees. I take her face in my hands and kiss away each and every tear.
“I don’t want you to cry, gorgeous. I brought you here so we could experience something we both enjoyed together once.” Leaning back, I lift her chin so I can look in her eyes. “Talk to me, Ivy.”
She gets up on her toes and touches her lips to my ear. “This is the single best surprise I’ve ever received in my life.”
“I’m glad,” I tell her, and then I kiss her hard and hold her tight. We stand like that for a long time.
The smell of food wafts over to us from the nearby restaurants, and after the intimate silence I clear my throat and ask, “You hungry?”
“Very.”
“Me too. Come on, let’s find someplace to eat.”
Walking down the busy sidewalk, we reach the crossing. The light is red, so we wait with a bunch of other people. Cars screech to a halt behind the white lines that etch the road, and out of nowhere a driver slams on his brakes, obviously thinking twice about running the light. He comes to a standstill in the middle of the crosswalk, and I instinctively step in front of Ivy, who was closer to the car. I pause for a minute to look over at her, and it hits me. After all this time it’s not that I couldn’t love someone, that I wasn’t capable—it’s that the one I needed wasn’t there for me to love.
As we start walking again, I lean over and whisper in her ear, “I can’t wait to get you alone. To get your clothes off and do everything I didn’t get to finish last night.”
She looks up at me and a rosy blush covers her cheeks. Then out of nowhere someone screams, “You’re Ivy Taylor. Oh my God,” and snaps a picture before either of us can turn away. I move to go after the woman, but Ivy pulls me back. “Ignore it. It’s fine,” she says. So we keep walking and I reach for her hand as we look in the windows of all the tourist-trap shops that line the street. When we walk past a cheesy diner with a pink flashing sign that says ROSIE’S, we smile at each other. Diners were always our thing. In high school we searched them out for the best breakfasts, milk shakes, and burgers. Just as we walk into the restaurant, her phone rings and she retrieves it from her purse and holds it in her palm.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” I ask.
“No,” she says quietly.
My eyes narrow on her. “Who’s calling that you don’t want to talk to?”
“Xander, it’s nothing.” But she’s still stopped on the sidewalk, gazing down at her phone.
I take it from her. Ten missed calls from Damon Wolf. “Why is he calling you nonstop?”
“He wants to discuss our contract termination. My attorney says to let him take care of it.”
“I’ll take care of it when we get back.” I can feel that I’m glowering, but I can’t help it.
She shakes her head. “No. It’s best to let my attorney do it.”