Hopping from talking about an insane reincarnated child who just wants to play with magic to talking about my not-exactly-existent love life seems like a stretch. A leap, even. Not a hop at all if we’re being technical.
Before I can make bad decisions in spite of theirleapingnature, a knock sounds at my door, so I peer in its direction, through the snaking lines of bookshelves obscuring the way there. “Yes?”
Silence responds—then a swear, and I decode that Dominic has opened the door to behold my labyrinth decorated in fairy lights. He makes his way through and stops at the foot of my bed. Eyes wide, he looks at me, then around me, at the way I’ve set up all my many shelves that they might leave me in a cocoon broken only by my window and my bathroom door, which are crowned by small shelves and small books, so that the wall might not be seen around them.
The fairy lights gleam across all my many weathered spines, and I nudge my glasses higher up on my nose.
Breath escapes Dominic, and he swears again when his attention returns to me—seated primly upon my bright yellow comforter, the skirt of my white dress from this afternoon splayed around my legs.
I know how this scene looks in my head.
It’s very cinematic. Very pretty. Very covered in fantasy edges.
It’s the kind of painting you nestle into the pages of a special edition, the kind of moment that could changeeverything.
Okay, Dominic.
You’re in my room.
And I told you to be more aggressive earlier.
Where are you going to take this story now?
One hand closes tightly into a fist as the other reaches—palm open—toward me. Eyes simmering, he silently beckons. And, if we’re honest, I’m really quite susceptible to the silent beckoning. Abandoning my phone, I let my warm flesh meet his, and he draws me from the plush yellow bed, whispering, “Little lotus…”
I flutter, like wingbeats. “Yes?”
“Is there any particular reason your bedroom is set up like a tower defense game?”
I laugh. “It’s obviously so I’ll have time to shoot down attackers before they can reach me. It’stacticaldefense.”
His hold around my hand solidifies. “Your aim must be poor if I’ve made it all the way here by myself.”
“Ahh. I see. So…youhavecome to attack me.”
“It would be in character as far as you, my sweet little saint, believe, wouldn’t it?” When he dips his head, his lips greet my knuckles, grazing them. Then he silently pulls me through the maze and out of my room.
The next thing I know, we’re outside, and he’s settled me onto the hanging swing on my back porch. Balmy summer air teases my hair in a breeze as the scent of the night mingles with the sounds of cicadas. Lightning bugs trace into the air, heading toward a sky yet to be filled with stars.
It’s dusk.
With its slices of navy sky.
And it’s summer.
With its warmth that clings to my flesh and coaxes away the bite my AC has left behind.
My eyes close as the peace saturates my limbs.
I love the night.
I love the summer.
When the heat subsides and leaves a hug behind, I don’t know that anything else can compare.
My lips part. “Wh—”
Something touches my shoulder, and I look to discover a lightning bug.
