Page 105 of Severed Heart

A door I’m stopped just outside of by the view that greets me. The tiny soldier that’s utterly captured me—mind and heart—sways in the middle of her yard, arms wrapped around her as if she’s self-soothing. Hands gripping her hips, her head is tilted skyward, and I quickly burn the vision of her into memory as I have so many others.

All images of the formidable, temperamental woman I knew now erased by the sight of her running off the pond dock and jumping into the water while plugging her nose like an eight-year-old.

Another image of her drip drying on the dock, just after, hand propping her head as my eyes traced the curves of her body a second before she turned back and beamed at me. The animation on her face as she watched her first movie in a theater. Telling stories across the firelight at the orchard. Playing Battle. Sharing snow cones while watching the sunset on my tailgate. Filling our days with simple things and enjoying simple pleasures as our feelings became anything but.

Years of memories between us now. Years together where we went from mentor and pupil to friends and to whatever she decides we are now.

Following her line of sight, I take in her view. Lightning flashes in the distance, defining the silhouette of the trees hovering over the wooden fence. A faint littering of stars twinkles just next to a looming storm cloud. Just below, a luminous half-moon sits nestled between the branches of a large oak. Thunder rumbles the ground for a few lingering seconds, and Delphine doesn’t so much as flinch. Lost in thought or some memory, she continues to sway, hugging herself in the middle of the yard.

The wind kicks up slightly as I, in turn, get swept away by the sight of her. And fuck, how I love the look of every inch of her. My attraction only amplified by the darkness she camouflages, which, to me, feels like a jagged turnkey, a key that lines up perfectly with my inner lock.

A turnkey who’s harnessed everything that resides inside me, which, by the second, feels on the brink of coming undone.

Leaning against the brick to the side of the door, I fall further with every sharp inhale of want, contented enough by simply watching her as the tips of her dark hair dance across the expanse of her small back. She’s dressed in white shorts and a tube top—both her shoulders and feet bare.

Even as I decide laying eyes on her is enough for now, I bothfeelandseeit the second she senses me and looks over her naked shoulder.

“Tyler, it’s the perfect night!” she declares, subtly wiping her eyes, her voice tearful, which has my chest cracking wide open, confirming what I already know. It’s me she’s thinking of, and my imminent departure causing her tears. Certain of it, I also know it’ll be hell in making her admit it.

“Come, dance with me,” she urges.

“It’s about to storm,” I point out uselessly. She waves away my objection, but I stay where I am, knowing how dangerously close I am to my breaking point.

“Come,” she whispers. “Come dance with me, Soldier,” she urges, reaching out for me. Blowing out a breath of defeat, I push off my heels, head and chest buzzing with the feelings already bouncing between us.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” I admit, gripping her offered hand and halting her movement by pulling her into me. The impact of her hits me harder than I expected as I allow her to decide where my free hand will go. As she situates us, her hand grips mine before she rests our now threaded fingers against my chest and draws the other to rest on the small of her exposed back. When she begins to sway, I mimic her movement, inhaling her light musk, which catapults my thirst into overdrive.

Kicking myself in the ass for indulging her, I shadow her lead as light rain starts to fall. It’s the sight of Dom’s bedroom light going dark, and the rumble of his Camaro seconds after that permits me to get lost in her. The feel of her in my arms negates all fucks I have left to give in that respect as she hums, her light, airy voice vibrating along my chest. My entire body ignites as I press my splayed fingers into her silken bare skin and pull her tighter to me, stroking my thumb lightly down her spine.

“What is this music?”

Her sigh is breezy before she speaks. “A song I used to dance to with my papa. In the wildflowers.”

“It’s catchy,” I tell her, “I like it.”

She laughs lightly. “No, you don’t.”

“I’m listening. I’m trying to understand what the fuss is about.”

“It was a different time,” she utters as I pull her closer, taking liberties because while she might be buzzed, I’m already drunk on her. It’s while listening that my chest bounces at the irony. I lean down and begin to whisper in her ear.

“Oh, she was so beautiful, I dared not to love her. Oh, she was so beautiful, I cannot forget her.”

It takes a few seconds for me to realize she’s stopped dancing and is gaping at me. “You truly are fluent.”

“I have two French best friends.” I shrug. “So it made sense to opt for French instead of Spanish.” Though I don’t mention, I’m fluent in both and adding German by the day.

“It’s humiliating you can speakmy languageso fluently after such a short education while I’m still trying very hard to master yours,” she admits sheepishly.

“You’re succeeding.”

“Maybe verbally, but my texting is still terrible,” she whispers.

“It’s perfect to me,” I murmur, dropping my eyes so she can’t read what I’m hiding. Of what I’m becoming more certain of, especially after talking to my mom about what her ailments are, where they might stem from, and how. It’s a serious discussion we need to have, but thewhenof relaying this is tricky—along with her responsiveness to the conversation.

The moon sinks further between the branches of the oak as I glance away briefly to try to regain my bearings. The wind kicks up slightly, and the rain is still light, more of a drizzle lining our skin with droplets.

“Well, maybe one day, when you forgive me, you’ll let me practice my French with you.”