The Butterfly Garden (Part 2: Across from the Lake)
We made the trek back to his cherry red sports car, which radiated with heat waves in the summer sun. If I had stuck to the leather seats on the way to the garden, that was nothing compared to the sensation now. We exchanged glances and petted each other through our clothes, which were effectively drenched by now in sweat, while they drove out of the garden parking lot and through the winding roads of the rest of the park. Only a few minutes of searching yielded an ideal spot, an empty parking lot with only one entrance and exit that sat nestled between a thick patch of woods and a sizeable lake. He backed the car into a spot at about three-quarters of the length of the lot, facing the lake. The windows were …
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