Page 128 of On the Breakaway

I don’t answer immediately, and she keels over in laughter. The attendant waves us toward the loading platform before I can defend myself, and Avery skips ahead of me.

“Tell me the backup plan.”

“No.”

“Was it another park? Or a second picnic?”

“How many picnic baskets do you think I carry around?”

She makes a show of considering it. “At least two.”

“That’s it.” I point toward the boat. “Get on the giant swan.”

It rocks gently as we step aboard, and Avery trips ahead of me when she almost misses a step because of it. My hands shoot out to her waist, steadying her. My thumb and forefinger are pressed against the sliver of skin showing between her jeans and crop top, and that’s all it takes for my entire body to come alive.

“Thanks,” she says, flashing me a smug grin as if she knows exactly what road my mind started heading down.

I narrow my eyes. “Aren’t soccer players supposed to be good on their feet?”

She swats at me as we slide into our chairs, waiting for everyone else to get on. A few pieces of hair have escaped from her braid, and I watch as she tucks them behind her ear.

Then she catches me looking.

“Again?”

I pretend to cough.

She laughs. “You keep staring at me.”

“You keep existing.”

“That’s your defense?”

“It’s a pretty fucking solid defense, Chaos.”

She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks turn a cute shade of pink. “You’ve gotten weirder.”

I go to deny it, but come up empty.

When we first met, I spent so much energy trying to keep everything neat and controlled around her the same way I do with the rest of my life. Every time she deliberately pushed my buttons, I stayed patient.

Now, she’s getting the unfiltered version that argues and teases her right back. It doesn’t even cross my mind to try to be perfect.

It feels strange.

I’ve always felt like I needed to earn the amazing people in my life, mapping each move I make to ensure it serves everyone around me, whether they ask me to or not, just to prove I deserve what I have.

But that’s the opposite of what Avery wants. She doesn’t want me to be polished or perfect. Every time I try to be either of those things around her, she looks right through it.

I don’t think I’ve ever had to work this hard to get close to someone. But even if after tonight, it all goes to shit, the freedom I feel when I’m with her already makes it worth it.

The swan boat ride is exactly as ridiculous as advertised. It’s slow and creaks. They only recently opened for the season, so they’re also crowded, forcing us to cram ourselves in like sardines. Which also means we’re stuck listening to every single person around us, including the college-age couple behind us sucking faces as if they’re all alone.

We exchange a glance as a way of making sure we’re both on the same page about it. And we are. Get a room.

Then the older couple next to us starts fighting about someone’s Aunt Nancy, their volume slowly increasing until I’m positive everyone on the boat can hear them. I owe them because Avery clutches my thigh in response, trying to hold her laughter back.

Eventually, she leans back and pats the swan’s face. “You poor, poor bird.”