blue (book one) - h.s. ✔️ watty's 2019

chapter 11 - Rickett's park

The drive to Rickett's park is much more difficult at night. There is very little light at this time of night; the time where the streetlights have yet to come on, and only a fraction of the sun is out.

I involuntarily squint my eyes in spite of my decent vision, and pull into the vacant parking lot. I deliberately park close to the actual park so that I have a speedy exit when this is over. The park is much more intimidating at night, and I regret not bringing a heavier jacket when the wind blows.

My teeth clink together in response to the wind, and I wrap my arms around my body to keep warm. I look around the eerie park searching for any sign of Harry.

A couple of minutes drone by and I start to regret my decision. Apparently, punctuality is not in his vocabulary. I fumble with my keys to pass the time and it falls in front of me. Groaning, I bend down to pick it up, but a long, large hand reaches out to grab them before I do.

"Where did you come from?" I ask in amazed irritation.

"I'm sorry?" he asks confused. He hands me my keys in one swift motion, dropping it in my palm.

"Where did you come from?" I repeat slightly less intrigued by his appearing act.

"Magic," he jests in an awed voice.

Playful.

His attitude is much different from our time in the convenient store earlier today.

He surprises me by apologizing for his tardiness. This eases some of my irritation, but not enough.

"What is this? How'd you get my number?" My question assault continues.

"I'm doing fine, thank you. Was at the gym today. Did some strength workouts, are the results any good?" he jokes, keeping up a playful nature. I want so badly to just give in and forget the way he treated me earlier today, but I fight my natural instincts wanting answers.

"You didn't answer my question."

I have never been so rude or sassy to anyone in my life. The feeling is alien, and I find myself constantly having to stop myself from apologizing.

"Why are you always asking questions?" he complains, rubbing his large hands over his face in frustration.

"Why are you always hostile?"

He doesn't answer.

After a moment, he visibly relaxes, and he opens his mouth to speak again.

"What time is it?"

"What?" He's stalling, I think.

"What time is it?" he repeats. This time carrying a more authoritative tone.

I pull out my phone and check the time: 9:54p.

"Close to ten o'clock"

"Precise time," he prompts.

"Nine fifty-four. Harry, what's the point of this?" I question, getting more and more frustrated by the second.

Smiling, a cute dimpled smile he says, "You have the next six minutes to ask me anything you want. So, choose wisely from your long list of invading questions, because at the end of those six minutes the sprinklers will turn on automatically - with or without us in close proximity."

His smile is triumphant and radiant under the moonlight. His white teeth are distracting as I start to take in what's about to happen.

Panic instantly floods my body; I've never been good under pressure. I have so many questions for him to answer, and I can't think of a single one right now. I should've written them all down!