I love the movie and find some new special moment every time I watch it. I can’t get enough of the romantic connection, the angst, and the unwavering fight for love and happiness. The hope and devotion, even in the face of heartache and tragedy, is fantastic.

I pull Archie against my body and pet his head, but he jumps off the bed and bolts out of the room, leaving me feeling rejected and lonely.

The soundtrack of the movie quickly pulls me back into the story, and the sad tune tugs at my soul, making me want to smile and sob uncontrollably at the same time. The park guitarist’s music makes me feel exactly the same way.

Chapter Three

I never go to the park on Saturday. That’s my workweek thing to help get me through the day. But I see no reason why I can’t do my laundry tomorrow instead of today as I usually do. The sun is out, the sky is filled with fluffy white clouds, and I’m in the mood for some fresh air. And I have to admit—curiosity has me wondering if Evan plays guitar in the park on the weekends. I wouldn’t mind hearing more of his music and seeing Acorn’s paw waving around without having to rush to get back to work.

After a quick stop for a soy vanilla latte, I’m reminded it’s the weekend by the fact that the park and surrounding area is filled with people who also aren’t working today and all the parking spaces are taken. During the work week, I never have to find a place for my car because I walk from my office. After circling three times, I finally find an empty spot and shove a few coins in the meter to buy me some time.

There’s a crazy number of adults and children in the park today, and I’m bummed to see my bench occupied by a woman and her two kids. Nervously, I peer around as I scout a quiet place to sit and finally settle on a mossy, shady spot under a big willow tree.

Leaning back against the thick tree trunk, I pull my book out of my bag and pick up where I left off, but my thoughts keep drifting away from the words on the page, as I hope to hear the beautiful sound of Evan’s guitar. Perhaps he plays somewhere else on the weekends or does something entirely different. What does a homeless person do with his time? I can’t picture him standing on the corner of a busy intersection, holding a “will work for food” sign, the dog waving frantically at traffic, but I guess anything is possible.

“You hiding from me way over here?”

I almost drop my book at the sound of his voice but quickly recover and squint up at him. His guitar case is slung casually over his shoulder, a black toothpick hangs from his lips, and the sun shines behind his head like a golden beacon. Acorn lies down in the grass next to me and leans his body against my leg. He’s decided they’re staying.

I try not to smile, but I think I already am. “Someone took my bench.”

“I saw.”

He sets down his guitar and sits on the ground a few feet from me.

“I wasn’t sure if you came here on the weekends or only when you work.”

“I usually don’t. I was actually just wondering if you played here on the weekends.”

“So you were thinking about me?” The teasing tone of his voice sends tingly zaps through my body like the static shock from rubbing on carpet. I wonder if we were to rub against each other if it would feel as electrifying as I think it would.

“No.” The word comes out of my mouth too quickly. “I just like hearing your music.” I wave my book in front of him. “While I’m reading. It’s nice.”

A mischievous glint flashes in his eyes. “I like watching you when you listen to my music. I can tell which songs you like the most.”

“Really?” I ask, amused. “And how can you tell?”

“Your breathing changes. It’s subtle, but I see it.”

Knowing he watches me makes my heart and stomach feel like I’m in an elevator endlessly riding up and down because someone has pressed all the buttons and the lift has no idea where to stop.

“This is a different look for you,” he says. I look down at my off-the-shoulder black shirt and my favorite pair of faded jeans and wonder if he thinks I look frumpy. “Not many women can pull off sexy secretary and adorable girl next door. I like both.”

Compliments from good-looking men are rare for me, and I have no idea how to react. Do I thank him? Tell him even though he’s wearing ripped-up clothes that probably haven’t been washed in days or weeks that he still looks smoking hot? Comment on how the scent of sandalwood enveloping him is alluring?