Fifteen minutes later I was at the park, pacing near the bench like some fucking loser with too much time to think. My hands were shoved deep into my hoodie pockets, my foot tapping against the pavement as my eyes kept drifting to the path that led into the park. I told myself to chill the fuck out, that it was just Imogen, that this didn't mean anything—but my heart clearly didn't get the memo.
Then I saw her.
She was walking toward me in a soft yellow sundress, the kind that caught the light just right, the fabric moving with the breeze like it was made for her. Her hair was down, loose, flowing around her shoulders, strands lifting gently in the wind like some cinematic bullshit straight out of a movie I didn't ask to be in.
And the second she spotted me—fuck—her eyes lit up.
That did something to my chest. Something dangerous.
She lifted her hand and waved, a small, shy gesture, and then closed the distance between us. Up close, I noticed the way she shifted her weight slightly, how her smile wasn't as confident as usual. She looked… nervous. That somehow made it worse.
"Hey, Tom," she said softly, smiling at me like I hadn't been haunting her thoughts just as much as she'd been fucking with mine.
"Hi," I replied, my voice coming out quieter than I meant. I swallowed, forcing myself to meet her eyes. "You look… beautiful."
The word slipped out before I could stop it, honest and unfiltered, and immediately I cursed myself internally. But it was already out there, hanging between us in the warm air, impossible to take back.
I saw her blush slightly, the colour creeping up her cheeks as she smiled, clearly caught off guard. She ducked her head just a little, like she was trying to hide it, before looking back up at me.
"Thanks, you don't look too bad yourself," she said, her tone casual but not quite convincing, like she was trying really hard to play it cool.
There was a short, awkward pause, the kind that buzzed with unspoken shit, before she shifted on her feet and glanced past me. She lifted her hand and pointed down the block.
"Uhm, so… you want some Froyo, ice-cream…" she asked, her voice light, gesturing toward the Frozen yogurt place at the end of the street.
"Sure, but let me treat you this time," I said without thinking, the words coming out firm.
"But I don't mind..." she started, turning back to me, when I quickly cut her off.
"No," I said, shaking my head slightly. "What kind of guy would I be if I don't pay for stuff every now and again?" My voice was half-joking, half-serious, but inside I was thinking, fuck, this mattered more than it should.
She looked at me for a second longer, lips parting like she wanted to argue, then she smiled again and nodded, and somehow that simple reaction hit harder than it had any right to.
She blushed for a moment, heat crawling up her cheeks as she looked away, clearly flustered as hell. She crossed her arms loosely, trying to put on this mock-annoyed front that didn't quite land.
"Is that toxic masculinity I sense?" she said, glancing back at me. "Because let me tell you, I am not really a fan." Her words were sharp, but her voice wasn't, and her body language completely betrayed her—soft, relaxed, not pulling away at all. She was clearly enjoying the witty banter.
"It's just chivalry," I replied with a small wink, suddenly feeling bolder than I had any right to, like fuck, where did that confidence even come from?
She let out a quiet giggle, shaking her head before stepping closer. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around mine, resting her head against my shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. My heart did a stupid little flip at that. Fuck.
We walked side by side toward the froyo place, her head warm against my shoulder, her presence grounding and overwhelming all at once. And for a moment, just a small fucking moment everything felt easy.