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“She took my watch.”
He chuckles. “Was it returned?”
“Yes, but I think I was a bit irrational.”
“When are younot?”
“Point taken.”
It grows quiet again.
“Is the Grinch growing a heart three sizes too big?”
“She was …” I think about the words I’d use to describe her. My brother takes any opportunity that presents itself to give me shit, so I stop mid-sentence.
“What?” he asks. “She waswhat?”
Stunning. Breathtaking. She thought I’d be different.
“I have to go. Text me about our plans on Friday.”
“Easton,” he urges, but I end the call.
I turn it on silent and shove my phone into my pocket. Eventually, the limo slows, and the door opens. Sunlight rushes in, and I leave the car, ignoring lingering glances.
I've visited Central Park a million times to clear my mind. It’s one of my favorite escapes.
I shove my hand into my pocket, ensuring the miniature notebook the size of my palm and the fine-nib fountain pen arethere. I never leave home without it because I never know when inspiration will call.
Since I was nine years old, I've captured moments of my life just like this, however exciting or boring they may be. The daily sketches started when I was a young, introverted boy in speech therapy. Sketching became my escape when I was frustrated about not being able to properly articulate my thoughts or needs.
Every day was a living Hell, and I'd force myself to draw one thing that would pull my mind away from reality. When my pen was gliding across the smooth paper, nothing mattered, not the words stuck in my throat or the room of people who stared while I froze in place. It helped me disappear and transported me to somewhere else, somewhere deep within my mind, and calmed me.
When I was on the verge of a meltdown, Weston always saved me. He used his voice for me when I couldn't. Sometimes, I still see the disappointment on my father's face when he learned the future of our family's company rested in the hands of a boy with a genius-level IQ who couldn't read out loud or properly articulate his thoughts.
How would I ever be able to hold a meeting, regardless of running a billion dollar company? How would I make deals happen if my words were like bricks in my mouth? That was when Weston and I became a packaged deal, and he refused to do anything without me. My father chose us both or lost us both. It was Weston’s boundary; one he’s stayed firm with.
Years of speech therapy and determination helped me. Now, I can command a fucking room without issue, even if it's mentally exhausting. That time in my life may be nothing more than a faded memory now, but I never stopped documenting my life in fine lines.
Over the years, I've sketched anything and everything, from animals to clouds to strangers. Each day, I draw at least onescene, a tiny but significant moment in my life, so I'll never forget the time that's always passing by.
Maybe when I'm retired and gray, I'll look back at these sketches and smile, knowing the moments I'm living in right now were the best damn days of my life.
When I’m in the park, just existing as everyone else, it's easy to pretend I can blend in and be invisible. Normalcy, it’s something I desperately crave. That and true love, but I know that doesn’t exist. At least not for me.
As I move onto the walking path, I glance up and see my penthouse waiting for me up above with its blue-tinted glass windows. It's one of my favorite homes when I'm in the city.
A green Frisbee zooms by in my peripheral, and when I turn my head, I see her.
I stop in my tracks.
I’ll never forget those high cheekbones, pouty lips, or long eyelashes. She’s wearing bright pink athletic shorts and a T-shirt with something written across the front. It says,My Book Boyfriend Is Better Than Yours. The thought makes me laugh. She commands my attention in the same manner as she did yesterday.
Alexis reads with her legs crisscrossed and next to her is a water bottle and a tote bag. It’s incredible how she can look so unbothered and at peace,as if nothing or no one could disturb her.
I move my hat farther down my head, knowing sunglasses were a good call. It gives me the opportunity to freely watch her. As I’m cast under her spell for the second time in two days, the world moves around me.
Brody falls in line beside me. His eyes scan across the park, and he spots her too. He’s aware of what happened yesterday, but he has no idea what she looks like.