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“Beautiful. And if I’m not mistaken—sunflower?”

I preen under his compliment and astuteness of my choice. Giving a hum of approval, I slip my arm under his bicep and admire my flower.

“And…just what are you hopeful for?” He turns to me with a quizzical look on his face.

“I…I don’t know what I’m hopeful for exactly…I’m just…” I feel my face start to burn. No doubt it’s redder than a beet. My hand falls from his bicep as I take a step back. “I’m just hopeful that you’re here…” The words come tumbling out of my babbling mouth.

It’s just a flower. That’s all. There’s nothing to it. When I look up at him, he’s beaming like a five-year-old who just won a gold star. He gives me a kiss on the forehead and backs away without a word. My elation is followed by a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“You should leave.” His eyebrows furrow as he slips his backpack off his shoulder. My heart lurches in revulsion. I forgot his true purpose for being here.

“Just do it,” I whisper. Dread coils in my stomach as I let my defenses fall. Defeat in its purest form. “The very least you can do is allow me to watch.” He rolls his eyes and lets out a guttural hum.

“Turn around at least.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I push my tongue against my cheek.

“No, you’re not a child. But you have a temper that would rival even the most ruthless two-year-olds. I don’t see any scenario in which you don’t attempt to intervene.”

I open my mouth to protest and quickly close it. He’s right. I hate that. Narrowing my eyes, I shift on my feet as I piece together some form of defense.

“I can be calm…” The lie rolls off my tongue, leaving a bitter taste in its wake. His brow lifts in mocking amusement. Taking me by the shoulders, he spins me to face the barren field.

“Just don’t look, please. Let me surprise you.” His beard brushes the shell of my ear as he whispers. The kiss he presses on my neck before dropping his arms and stepping away has my thighs growing slick.

“Fine.” I continue to shift on my feet as I look out into the field. The sound of the zipper behind me has me grinding my teeth. I don’t attempt to turn around and peek at what he’s doing. Continuing to hold out hope which is not happening, I rub my eyes.

His warm hand lands on my shoulder. My spine straightens. I can’t do it. I can’t look. I may throat-punch him.

“You can turn around now.”

Focusing on steadying my breath, I steel my nerves. Turning around, I look up from the dirt to my flower. My eyes blow wide at the sight. It’s beautiful.

A ring of flowers, woven to form a perfect crown sits atop his head. My eyes trail up to the flower pointed to the ground, which has been woven between his fingers. It’s breathtaking. A small spark of creation exists between the flower in his fingers and the crown on top of his head. Something I’ve only ever seen in classical works. The power in the small gap is perfect. It accentuates loss, while bringing balance.

“Well…what do you think?” he mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

I can see him watching me intently out of the corner of my eye. Running his hand across his lips, he begins to grumble something I can’t understand. His hand drops as he comes closer to my side.

“Well…” he says, his tone reflecting fear of rejection.

Letting out a breath, I turn to face him. Our eyes meet, and the connection between us hums like a live wire.

“It’s perfect.” A swirl of emotions courses through me. The overload makes it too difficult to differentiate between them.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know…It’s a touch that I never thought to incorporate. I’ve planned it so meticulously. I guess I feel like I set out to accomplish something, but then someone else had to finish it for me.” I look at my feet as I hold back the stinging behind my eyes. His finger taps the bottom of my chin, gently raising my head.

“You silly little thing. Admittedly, I did enjoy annoying you at first. Something about seeing that spark in your eyes.” His blue eyes hold a softness to them I rarely see. “I never would have been able to create what you have. You are the essence. I’m mere superficiality…and I’ll never touch another one of your pieces again if it hurts you so much.”

His words calm my thoughts.

He brushes my cheek, and our lips gently meet in a rumbling kiss. His tongue roams my mouth in painfully slow, sweet strokes. Our kiss deepens as his fingers dig into my side. Running my hand up his hip, I lightly brush over his hard cock. A soft groan from his lips has me pressing against him. Every inch of my body screams to touch him. I place my hand on his chest, curling my fingers in a desperate grasp. I push, breaking our kiss.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, breathlessly. His lust-filled eyes look down at me in confusion.

“Oh, nothing…I’ll be at home wearing a nice little ensemble…Who knows, you might be able to knock on the front door this time.” I put my hands on my hips as I smile and turn to leave.