Grounded (Up in the Air, #3)(90)

I grimaced at him. “I know this won’t be a shocker, but you’re in much better shape than I am.”

He gave me a rather lascivious once-over. “I disagree. I like your shape much better, Love.”

I laughed. The man could turn anything suggestive.

We spent hours walking the trail around the grounds and covering every inch of the scenic gardens inside. It was a romantic setting and James, being a romantic soul, used every bit of it to his advantage, clasping my hand and smiling into my eyes. If I wasn’t already hopelessly in love with him, just one morning like this one and I swore he would have changed that.

We took our time exploring the palace, and when we were done, we found another charming park just a few blocks away. Children played some version of soccer in a shaded dirt field. The people we had encountered had been the epitome of polite so far, not even staring at us, though we must have seemed out of place to everyone there. The only difference were kids under fifteen. They stared unabashedly at us, their game coming to a halt as we strolled by. As we drew even with them, all of the young teenage boys raised their hands in the air, as though they had planned it, and began to cheer. I giggled at the strange reaction, looking at James. “What was that?” I asked him.

He was grinning. “I think we just found some new members of your fan club.”

I rolled my eyes, still laughing. Boys were weird.

We strolled the large circular park, pausing when we caught sight of an impromptu concert in the park. A crowd had gathered to watch a small orchestra play.

James pulled me into his arms, handling me with mastery and gallantry, surely a rare combination. He moved into a light-stepping waltz, smiling down into my eyes.

“What a charming city,” I told him, smiling back, enjoying the novelty of a morning dance in the park.

He nodded. “I’m finding a new love for this city. For everything. You’ve made the world a new and exciting place for me.”

I flushed in pleasure, believing every intoxicating word he said to me.

We leisurely walked from the Imperial Palace district and back to the Ginza district, shopping a little, but mostly just exploring the fascinating city. We walked through a mall, and used a tour guidebook to try to find one of the large city gardens in the Tokyo Bay that I’d marked.

We were trying to decipher the map for maybe five minutes, laughing at our confusion, when Clark approached. He’d been hovering with Blake, following at a discreet distance all day.

“The Hamarikyu Gardens, right?” he asked, peeking at our map.

I nodded.

He pointed down a street. “That way,” he said. He had apparently been here before. “We’ll pass the fish market, which is closed for the day, but it’s just a few blocks past that.”

We thanked him and began to wander that way. James had an arm wrapped around my waist, holding me close, uncaring of the heat and humidity.

“We’ll have to do the fish market tomorrow morning,” James said. “It’s worth it. Best sushi in the world.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the time of the day, or the day of the week, but the lovely gardens were nearly deserted, only the occasional painter capturing one of the park’s landmarks visible. The beauty of the well-maintained gardens stood in stark contrast to the skyscrapers of the adjacent Shiodome district. We circled the large park leisurely, stopping often to enjoy views of the scenic garden, and the waters of the bay beside it.

“Let me know if you see something that you just have to paint,” James told me, as we passed another artist. “I can have supplies brought right away, if you’re so inclined. This place seems to inspire artists.”

I smiled at him, loving that he tried so hard to understand me. I had just been thinking that I’d like to spend a morning painting here.

“You’re so sweet,” I told him.

He smiled, and it was as un-sweet as it could be. “I was just plotting where I would f*ck you here. You have strange ideas about sweet.”

I laughed. I had a feeling that seeing the world with James would give me strange ideas about a lot of things. “How do you propose we do that?”

His eyes smoldered at me. “You let me worry about that. There’s a teahouse set on a tiny island in the center of the gardens. How would you like to attend a traditional Japanese tea ceremony?”

I was delighted by the idea. “I’d love nothing more. Except perhaps your other plans.”

He winked at me, giving me a roguish smile. “There’s no reason we can’t do both.”

The teahouse was quaint but I found it incredibly beautiful, the open windows with a view of the gardens like a frame for a perfect picture. We sat cross-legged on a tan bamboo mat while an ageless looking Japanese woman went through the painstaking and elegant ritual. I watched with rapt attention, fascinated with every detail, because every detail was so perfectly orchestrated. The simplest motions became art as the practiced woman moved fluidly through the ritual, the arms of her light pink kimono barely rippling as her arms moved.

James bowed low to her when she presented him with his tea, spouting off a fluent stream of Japanese that I couldn’t begin to follow, but he was obviously praising her.

I felt a completely unreasonable wave of jealousy. I tamped it down, knowing that it was insane. But his praise directed at anyone but myself made me feel covetous of it.