Page 54 of Hunger & Harmony

“I appreciate it, but . . .” My shoulders lift, and I giggle apologetically. “I don’t like sweets.”

His brain visibly short-circuits.

“What? Humans can dislike it?”

“Oh, yeah,” I say. There’s something so charming about how he slowly puts the chocolate down. “My favorite candy is sour. The harsher, the better.”

He processes my words, mulling them over for a good long moment.

“Why would you waste your taste buds like that?”

“Your Majesty!” I whine, and he holds his hands up in defense. “It’s not a waste if I like it.”

“Okay, okay,” he says. “I guess I always envisioned that I’d like chocolate and sugar if I could eat human food.”

“It’s not a given that humans all like the same things,” I say, and he hums thoughtfully. “Not every vampire likes the same blood type!”

Another smile finds his lips after he nods. Even the walls join me as I playfully lean in.

“What? What’re you smiling about?” I ask, and he responds without missing a beat.

“You can be my sweet, then.”

It catches me off guard, and warmth quickly blooms over my face. I give his arm a light push, unable to handle how cute he is.

“What? You’re very sweet,” he says, his sincerity starting a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.

I roll my eyes playfully, turning from him like I don’t believe it. How could I not, though?

“See, look,” he murmurs, his knuckle brushing past my hair and along my jaw.

My eyes widen as I snap back towards him. His left hand captures my chin, and he angles me to better glance over my red-hot face. It’s my turn to be the shy one, and his eyes crinkle with delight when the heat spreads.

“Look at your cherry cheeks,” he says, his honey voice deepened by visceral desire.

He’s not just looking at my blush. I’m breathless as he leans in, eyes roaming from the tip of my freckled nose to the fluttering heartbeat trapped in my throat. When his gaze drags back up to my eyes, I find my voice.

“Aren’t cherries tart?”

My delayed whisper seems to snap him out of his trance. He chuckles quietly.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

His fingers linger on my feverish skin just a moment longer before he releases me. I’m left wanting more, willing myself not to hop right onto his lap.

“You’re still sweet. Cherry cheeks and all,” he says, and I let the yearning simmer down into something softer.

I don’t know where I fit in all this. Within his world, or just his heart. Maybe I don’t have to figure it all out.

Scooting closer to him, I take his hands in mine. They’re large and strong, and the calluses from his guitar strings are pleasantly rough against my fingers. He doesn’t protest or pull away. His fingers lace with mine, and an assuredness settles into my body as we let the soft silence do the talking.

I need to trust the look he’s giving me in the warmth of this backstage lounge. The caress of his lips on the top of my hand.

If he's offering a seat beside him, maybe that’s enough. I just need to trust him.

Even if I don’t know how long I have to do so.

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