Page 45 of Trusting You
“Speaking of fish,” Locke says as we stroll. “We might be in time for the seal feeding.”
“Oh, yeah?” This time, my enthusiasm is real. “You mean sea lions? Lil loves them.”
“Yeah, those,” Locke says, laughing a little. “I stand corrected.”
I’m about to say sorry, then stop. He’s already made clear how much I’ve slung apologies at him. I stay quiet for the rest of the walk, enjoying listening to Lily’s random screeches and one-sided conversations with anyone who walks by and happens to catch her eye. Especially dogs.
Locke pays admission despite my protest, and we’re through the iron gates and into the park itself.
As we wander, I enjoy the city feel, exactly what it’s like in the movies. The spiraling walkway in the shade of trees, peppered with benches. No joggers or stragglers are in this section since we paid for entry, but there’s still plenty of families and friends pausing at the cages and pointing.
We walk past one that’s supposed to be a red panda, but we see nothing.
“I like this place,” Locke says, “Because it’s a conservation park. These animals aren’t kept here purely for entertainment.”
“Mainly to catch some zzz’s I’m noticing,” I say.
A scampering toddler comes too close, and I nearly trip over him. I latch onto Locke’s arm to dart out of the way.
“Sor—” Nope. I won’t say it.
I glance over at Locke, and I’m surprised to see he’s staring at me.
“Keep it there,” he says. “I like it.”
Heat splashes my cheeks, and it’s not because of the sunlight leaking through the canopy of trees. I want to pull away, to fold my hands and keep pace beside him as he pushes the stroller—but I don’t want to, either.
I’m comfortable in the crook of his elbow. I can feel each muscle flex and tendon tighten as he redirects Lily’s ride, and I’m happy to stick close, as there are so many kids flitting back and forth, like a swarm of bees with light-up shoes.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway, as we continue our unhurried trek—my touch still tangled with his.
The density of children thickens the closer we get to Sea Lion Court. When we enter, it’s like a mini version of a stadium, with a semicircle of seats and a small pool in the middle where the sea lions will play and be fed.
“Do they do tricks?” I ask Locke as we scout for good seats up front.
“Maybe a little,” he responds. He unbuckles Lily and tosses her against his chest, leaving the stroller near the entrance. “But this place is more about rehabilitation.”
I follow behind his back to some seats, and once Locke sits, he balances Lily on his knee. Lily’s kept her bunny, and I swipe the diaper bag from the stroller before we leave it.
“Do me a favor, save the seat next to you,” Locke tells me. He’s not looking my way.
I plop the diaper bag in the empty bucket seat beside me.
“Look—it’s starting,” he says before I can ask who for.
Soon, I forget all about who’s supposed to be next to me, because I’m fascinated by Lily’s reaction to the sea lions when they come out and how they leap for fish. So much so, her toy bunny dangles by its ears, then plops to the floor as she forgets about it.
I’m more distracted by Locke’s attention on Lily, how he’s bent his head to her level and points at the animals while jiggling her on his knee, laughing when she laughs, screaming out when she does.
These two are in their own world, and instead of being jealous of it, I’m…I’m warmed by it.
This is what Lily deserves. To be with Locke and to never question who her father is, what he might’ve been like. He’s right here, for her.
Pang.
For once, the hit isn’t a sorrowful one. Why did Paige want to keep him from Lily?
Suddenly, the smell of fish, the barks of the sea lions, the crowd of people, and the heat of the day become too bright, too loud. I bend to pick up Lily’s bunny, so we don’t leave it behind. It’s one of the last things Paige bought for her.