“Yeah. Isn’t that a nice word? ‘Walk’ is so pedestrian. My mom used to say it like that when I didn’t want to leave the house, though. Let’s promenade, darling, in this real posh, high-society British voice. It always made me giggle, and then we’d go off. Usually to the liquor store, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
Bastian chuckles. “Promenade it is, then.”
We continue our stroll around the block. Excalibur is still eagerly skimming over the pavement a couple feet ahead of me and Bastian is still lurking at my side. It’s a good thing for both of us that I can’t count how many nervous glances he casts my way, because the number would surely be too damn high. It’s much better to pretend for a moment.
Because there are such nice things I can pretend about. I can pretend that we’re a normal
