Page 72 of Keep Me Close

I frown. “What is?”

“There aren’t any cameras or reporters. No fans screaming your name.” He gives my hand a light squeeze. “It’s just us.”

It’s a strange thought. I can’t remember the last time it was just me and another person without an audience. I glance around again, half expecting someone to jump out from behind a tree with a telephoto lens. But there’s just a dad trying to wrangle two kids in matching jackets, and a couple arguing quietly over a zoo map.

I huff out a breath. “Aren’t we supposed to be convincing people you’re my boyfriend?”

“We are.” He nods toward a couple of kids sprinting past us, screaming like tiny maniacs hyped-up on sugar. “We’ll start with them.”

I snort-laugh. “I’m pretty sure they care more about the pretzel cart than our fake relationship.”

“Well, I can’t blame them for that. Zoo pretzels are top-notch.”

I angle a look at him. “Wow. Bold claim.”

“Stick with me, Hollywood. I know where all the best soft pretzels are in the city.”

My lips twitch. “That might be the weirdest attempt at flirting I’ve ever heard.”

“And yet you’re still holding my hand.”

I glance down at our joined fingers, then back up again. “Maybe I’m just here for the pretzel.”

His grin turns slow and wicked. “Then I guess I better buy you one and make sure it’s unforgettable.”

“That’s a lot of pressure for a snack food.”

He leans closer. “Luckily for you, I’m not afraid of a challenge.”

Heat creeps up my neck, and his smirk only deepens as he walks without letting go of my hand.

We wander past the first enclosure and stop to watch a group of kids press their faces to the glass while a sleepy snow leopard ignores them completely. One little boy is narrating the animal’s life story to anyone who’ll listen.

Knox leans on the railing beside me. “You ever come here before?”

I shake my head. “No. Zoos weren’t really part of my childhood.”

He glances over. “Seriously?”

“Yup.”

We start walking again at a slower pace with no real destination in mind. He keeps my fingers enveloped in his, like he forgot they’re there. Instead of pulling away, I let myself enjoy the warmth of his hand wrapped around mine. It’s comforting in a way I can’t explain.

“So, if you didn’t go to zoos, what was your childhood like?”

I shrug. “A lot of sets, cameras, hotels, events.” I pause. “And more cameras.”

He grimaces. “That sounds terrible.”

“Yeah,” I say with a small laugh. “But it was normal. At least I thought it was. I didn’t know there was any other way to grow up.” The realization tumbles through my head. “I guess part of me still doesn’t.”

After a while, we stop near a food stand, and Knox buys two hot dogs, a pretzel, and a soda without asking what I want. It should annoy me, but instead it feels weirdly easy. Like he already knows enough about me to understand what I like.

We settle at one of the picnic tables, knees bumping beneath the metal top. For a few minutes, we simply eat and watch people stroll by. A family of four passes with matching zoo cups. A little girl in pigtails drags a stuffed giraffe by one leg. Somewhere behind us, a kid cries because he wanted the blue balloon, not the red one.

It all feels wonderfully ordinary.

“What about you?” I ask, breaking off a piece of the pretzel. And, yeah, it’s delicious. “What was your childhood like?”