Page 183 of Severed Heart

He pulls back, his face contorted as he chortles and snorts, barely getting his words through it. “F-f-fruiting you? Did you say stop fruiting you?” He runs his fingers up my sides as I slap his hands.

“O-o-oui, you d-damned imbecile,” I manage, “that’s w-what you called it, fruiting!”

Raucous laughter bursts from him, bellowing down the hillside we’re perched upon as tears form in the corners of his eyes. I scowl up at him where he hovers above me, his outburst taking several seconds to tame until he can finally speak.

“B-baby—” he barks out another laugh before continuing, “It’s calledb-blowing raspberries, notfruiting.”

When his amusement temporarily has him loosening his firm hold, I use it to my advantage, wiggling out of his grip before rolling out of reach. I’m nearly free of the blanket when he easily captures me by the ankle, pulling me back beneath him. As he gazes down at me, I refuse to meet his eyes, going utterly limp as I speak in defeat.

“No matter what it’s called, Ihate itnow, and you will get nothing more from me today, Soldier. You are pissing me off!”

“Whoa,”—his eyes widen—“hey, hate is a strong word, General, but I’m sorry I went too far. No more fruiting today,” he jokes.

“Well, I don’t trust you,” I counter.

“It stops now, I promise... but I’ll getno more fromyou today, huh? You sure about that? That’s a pretty strong declaration,” he muses, running his warm palm under my sweater, over my belly, and up to the lace covering each of my breasts. Lace that I loaded my cart with on my last lady date with Layla. Lace that Tyler made very clear he loved, by words and demonstration. Unable to help myself as recent memories flit in, I stare back up at him, wrapping my hands around his neck.

“Fine, maybe I don’t hate it, but you’ve given me no choice. I need a word of safety with you,now.”

“A safe word, huh?” He grins.

“Oui,” I say, catching my breath, “because you are a brute witheven less mannersthan me. I need to have a word thatsaves me. A word where you cease allraspberriesassault and have mercy because it’s evident ‘no’ and ‘non’do not workwith you”—I narrow my eyes at him—“imbecile.”

“How about fruiting?” he suggests through a chuckle and an added dimple pop.

“Oh,fuck you.” I roll my eyes.

“Oof.” He frowns, his stinging eyes gripping mine as I sink at the sight of them.

“What, what is it?”

“I don’t know ... I guess ‘fuck you’ is pretty brutal even in jest,” he says, “how about we save that particular brash for really nasty fights?” He whispers his finger along my cheek. “Maybe so I’ll know just how badly I fucked up.”

“I’m sorry.” I palm his jaw. “I didn’t know it would bother you this way.”

“Me neither, and it’s okay, beautiful, really. I can handle any brash you toss my way, and you know it.” His grin returns. “But if I’ve aggravated you to the point of ‘fuck you,’I’ve obviously gone too far.” His expression turns so sincere that my heart melts at the sight of it.

“But just so you know,” he emits so softly it’s barely above a whisper, “your laughter ... does good things to me.”

“What does it do?” I ask, utterly captivated, as the world blurs around him like it so often does now.

“So, we’re fishin’ for compliments, are we?” He winks.

“Ah,finally,” I draw out, “a metaphor so easily interpreted”—I roll my eyes—“it only took you eight plus years to deliver.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he says, his voice mournful, his expression dimming, “but it took us so long to get here.”

Just as he relays that, a rush of wind carries a flurry of foliage from the trees atop the hill along its wake, which rains briefly down on us. Cool leaves start to land on our faces and hands, covering some of our blanket. Taking our cue to take notice, we both scan the orchard, inhaling the crisp air and soaking in the deep green hillsides. Temporarily mute, we gaze upon the enchanted land as peace settles over us both.

“For me,” he says after a few long minutes, pulling my focus back to him. “The wait has been worth it, Delphine,” he adds before biting his lip thoughtfully.

“For me, too,” I whisper. “So worth it ... I just wish it wasn’t so painful.”

“If you want more honesty,” he relays, tearing at some grass at the edge of the thick blue quilt he bought just for today, the low sun glinting off his lengthening brown hair. Hair which is long enough now to wrap around my fingers. The slight curl I love back. One I beg him not to cut, which he doesn’t, just for me.

“I always want honest,” I tell him, soaking in his every feature and expression.

He brings his eyes to mine. “Your laughter heals me.”