The Runaway Mom

Chapter 12

"Where were you raised?" The question practically prompts a laugh. "What, why?" Caspian licks the ice cream off his upper lip, and it's undeniably sexy.

"You mean where I was born?" That sounds like a dumb question. "This isn't some kind of job interview, right?"

"Kinda?" He chuckles. "But yeah, where were you born and raised?"

"I was born in Chicago, Illinois," I answer. "Raised in Simi Valley, and then Mom and Pops decided to move us to Europe—Italy, to be exact. Florence, to be specific."

"Tell me about it." Caspian looks serious with that question, huh?

I don't think there's much to tell. "What about it? It's literally just that. Mom had me in Chicago, hitched Pops before I popped out, and we hung out in Simi Valley until I was four. Then we jetted off to Florence at five, where some talent scout found me, and voilà—I became a Midways' model. The rest is history. What about you?" His expression shows utter astonishment. "What? See how weird that was? I mean, being asked like that, or is it just me?"

"You're so cute, Poppy," he pinches my cheeks. For crying out loud, this guy! "Well, I've never flown between continents, just around Europe. I'm kind of a London-based product. I was born there, raised there, and lived there."

"Are you a London boy by choice or by circumstances?"

I want to know.

"Both," he shrugs, his thumb grazing against the side of my lips where there's a smear of ice cream I hadn't noticed until he wipes it with his thumb and brings it to his mouth to taste it. "Mmm, vanilla."

There's a long pause; my heartbeat is so loud it feels like a heart attack, even with the crashing waves on the rocks. It's as if it wants to leap out. I feel like I'm fifteen again, caught in a summer romance straight out of a book.

We just came down from one of the best ice cream parlors in the Vineyard, Tides & Treats. Located right on the main beach, it's a favorite spot for both the young and the young at heart, with an endless array of flavors that can delight anyone, no matter their age. It's also the very first parlor I stumbled upon when Vermont and Maude first brought me here a few years back.

"Yes?" Caspian raises a brow. "Everything alright, babe?"

I blink. "Yeah, everything's fine," though I'm not entirely sure if I'm trying to convince him or myself. "I think we should head back. Let's swing by here later this evening, if you're up for it." I smooth out my dress as I stand up from where I was lounging at the edge of the beach pier.

"Sure thing, my love." I feel as red as a tomato, and I can't deny how it tickles my heart and makes me giddy. It's like the truest of truths I've heard, especially compared to all those guys who just want to get under my skin. Plus, Caspian's thick English accent is so captivating, and the way he calls me that is something—familiar, yet I can't quite put a finger on it. But I sure do want his fingers on me.

I gasp. What's been on my mind lately?

He finishes the last bits of his ice cream and takes my hand. We stroll together over to where our bikes are parked. I lead the way, hopping onto my bike first and getting ready to ride away.

"How about we chill over there?" I point to a cozy spot near a stack of rocks a few steps from our cottage as we approach. It's already four in the afternoon, and the beach is buzzing with activity—swimming, sunbathing, and lazy coastal strolls. I'm in the mood to escape the crowd for a bit. Since this part of the beach is reserved for newlyweds, it's off-limits to anyone but us right now, and I'm totally taking advantage of that. I suggest we leave because, for some reason, I want to be alone, but I want to be alone with him. Being alone with him just feels right. I can already imagine all the mischief we could get into without anyone else around.