Press palm to palm. He comes up behind you, an arm snaking around your waist, warm breath at the nape of your neck.
“Kiss me,” he says.
It’s like the gravity of the sun, pulling you in. Mouth to mouth. You turn, belly to belly. Breast to breast. Heart to heart.
“They had apples. Honeycrisp. Some other kind, too…I forget what–well, they’re all new apples.”
I smiled. “Thanks.” It was the closest I would get to the market that day. I love choosing my fruit and veggies from the farmers who grew them. The dried mud on a mound of small potatoes, flaking off around the little crate that contained them. The weight of a fat tomato in my hand. The smell of a bundle of herbs. Feeling like a Duchess as I peer at each package, choosing which would serve me best. But I wasn’t feeling my best that day, so he went alone. He delivered, though–Honeycrisp is my favorite. Pink Lady, second.
“I got some peaches, too.”
“Ohhhh.” I tiptoed to the kitchen to peer inside the bag. There they were, three perfect peaches.
I selected my favorite, though they all looked lovely. I turned around and let water run over it, washing the fuzzy skin gently. I gave her a little rub with the dishtowel on the counter, to dry her off. I put the fruit to my nose and inhaled, to my satisfaction it was delightfully fragrant. I bit into the fruit, grabbing a paper towel to catch the juices. Sweet, wet, divine–the last taste of summer.
“This peach is perfect. Come have a bite.”
He poked his head into the hallway, peering at me standing near the sink. Eyebrows up, “Well, alright.”
I watched him take the four paces to me. His light brown hair in want of a trim. His green tee making his eyes more green than ever. His eyes are magic that way, pulling green, light brown, or hazel–depending on the shirt.
I held the peach up, about breast high. He stood in front of me for a beat and looked at the peach, put both of his hands around my hand, cupping it from beneath and raised the peach to his mouth. He looked me in the eye as he bit into the flesh, I was transfixed. Any words that had begun their journey to my mouth were halted in their tracks as I watched him take another bite, his eyes locked with mine. Juice running down our hands. I forgot the paper towel in my other hand. I forgot that I could look away, if I wanted to.
He released my hand, smiled and chewed, still looking me in the eyes. I felt a chain of electrical tingles run down my spine, then back up again. He made a sound that indicated the peach was, indeed, as perfect as reported. He then turned and walked back into the bedroom to sort books, and fold laundry. I enjoyed watching the back of him as he went. I stared at the space where he stood as I finished the peach in four bites, then made my way to the bedroom as well.
H.L. Brooks 