“You okay?”
I turned to look at him. What was the big deal? We were on our first date. I’d heard of a billion other couples, gay and straight, who had open relationships. I guessed it wasn’t that novel an idea. Still…
Plus, we were talking about commitment on our first date?Learn from your mistakes, Finn!Learn!
“Yeah. I’m good.”
He lifted his chin, eyes peering down his straight nose. “Really?”
“Yeah! Yes, I’m good.” I reached out and pulled his hand. “Let’s get out of here before I manage to gain every pound I’ve lost in one evening!” I led him through the boughs of the willow.
The party had tripled in size. The space was so filled with fairies, it didn’t seem possible that anyone could move without getting trampled. Yet, as we walked, a path formed at our feet.
In front of us, a gorgeous seven-foot-tall woman with ground-length silver hair and black swanlike wings danced with an exaggeratedly thin giraffe with a pink-glittered bowtie underneath his jaw. I nearly laughed. It was like a freak show at the zoo. But I didn’t. As strange and silly as it was, it was a stunning sight. All of it. A page from some gothic Victorian children’s picture book, oiled with elaborately ornate detail.
“Will you dance with me, Finn?”
I turned to Schwint, expecting a mocking grin on his face. Instead, he held out his hand, his face a mixture of flirtation and nervousness.
He made my heart skip a beat. As damned cliché and twelve-year-old girl as it sounded, he did. My heart skipped a beat, then leapt as it found its rhythm again. I knew it after our kiss, before walking into the celebration, but I hadn’t admitted it to myself yet. I was in trouble. I couldn’t make my mouth form words, so I nodded and took his hand.
He didn’t spin me. He didn’t dip me. He didn’t try to turn me into a Disney princess on a ballroom floor.
He pulled me close, his body forming to mine, already feeling familiar, already feeling right, and encircled my back with his arms, tipped his forehead until it was touching mine, and began to sway.
As with the food and wine under the willow, the touch of his body moving against mine and the sweep of the music humming in my ears overwhelmed my senses, leaving me breathless and beautifully content.
Again, I picked out certain calls of birds in the music, cries of land animals, whispers of wind combining with tones and chords of instruments I’d heard of and others long since forgotten.
“Where does it come from?”
Schwint dipped his head and grazed my lips. “Hmm?”
I hesitated, distracted by the tender caress of his mouth on mine. “Where does the music come from? I don’t see a band or speakers or anything.”
He pulled back to better look at me. “It doesn’t come from anywhere. Or rather, it comes from everywhere.”
My brows knotted in question.
“It’s nature. It’s nature singing. It’s what life sounds like.”
“It’s what life sounds like?” I had no idea what that meant, like so many other things Schwint had said since we arrived here. But then, as the discordant harmonies soared, I knew exactly what he meant. It was life; it was nature. It was everything. Of course this is what life would sound like. “Why have I never heard it before?”
“You’re a witch.”
I laughed. “What does that mean?”
“It means, my pretty little warlock, that you’ve never dated a fairy before.”
My pretty little warlock.I knew I should probably be offended by such a name. Either because it implied ownership, or it was too familiar, or it made me sound like a little girl. Yeah, whatever. I loved it.
We danced, or swayed, rather. Time disappeared. Outlandish forms continued to shift out of the corner of my eyes. The music of life fell, swelled, and fell again. Orbs of light floated in and out, at times swirling around us or managing to squeeze their way through what little space there was between our bodies.
His hands traveled slowly over my back and grazed over my cheeks. Fingers stroked through my hair and traced my lips. His eyelashes tickled the bridge of my nose as he pressed his lips to mine. His voice filled me with warmth as he hummed by my ear.
I fell hopelessly in—No! Not yet. Not yet.
I’ve no idea how long we swayed. It may have been hours. Even so, it wasn’t long enough, and my body ached for him as he pulled away.
