Click here to read One Sunday at Angels Knoll Park, Part 2
And before she could say anything more at him, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, folding her body into his, surrounding her. And she tried to remain cold but found herself melting. He didn’t say a word, didn’t give assurances or false promises. He just held her. Close and deep.She noticed how easy it was to tuck her face into the space between his neck and shoulder, resting her cheek on the smooth fabric. She felt the warmth of his body seep through to hers and it felt amazing. His hands didn’t stroke her back, which she always thought was weird. Instead, they laid wide across her jacket, firm and warm.
She started to cry, then laugh. He was ridiculous. A man child with no grasp on reality. A big kid who dragged his girlfriend to a bench he saw in a movie for a romantic encounter. The perfect example of an artist with delusions of grandeur.
But he was there. Maybe that’s all she needed to do too. Be there. She raised her arms and held him back, savoring the feeling of their bodies cradled together.
A camera flashbulb lit up the space around them. They both started to laugh.
“Don’t move,” he whispered warmly into her ear. “I think this is their money shot.”
She laughed and wrapped her arms around him tighter. She wasn’t going anywhere.
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