They crossed the road toward their cars. Clara said, “Can we just walk to the restaurant? It’s such a beautiful day.”
“You know it’s a bit of a hike from here?”
“Which is exactly why I wanted to walk.”
Clara started away from him, and Flynn watched her. Although his desires went in the opposite direction from hers, he couldn’t help but be struck by her beauty. He felt this image of her, in a slightly yellowed white lace dress and sandals, tendrils of black hair blowing behind her as she headed toward Green Lake Road, would stay with him for a long time.
It crossed his mind that the image would stay with him because he so wanted something important to happen that morning.
It couldn’t, could it? That would be too easy. The real stuff—the important stuff—only happened after lots of effort and hard work. Right? His parents had endlessly reminded him of that fact growing up.
Flynn hurried to catch up.