by Anyta Sunday
He snagged my sleeve and pulled me around. I went with it, blinking up at him. He was shaking his head, as if he found something particularly amusing. Or, perhaps he was nervous—
His arm came around my shoulders and he pressed me closer to him. My cheek slid alongside his, my shaven skin on his stubble. “I don’t want to dismiss it. You sank a hole in one.” His voice was warm at my ear, and his laugh—warmer. “We have to celebrate the successes. Who knows when we’ll have another chance?”
At that, I brought my free arm around his shoulder and whacked the back of his head. “Like you do so much better.”
“I think I’ll have to practice.” His next words unsettled me, leaving my stomach to flip the rest of the day. “I like celebrating with you.”
WE SHARED a trolley at New World. It made sense since we practically ate all our meals together. We roamed the aisles chucking in the staples—pasta, rice, cheese, milk—and then I detoured down the color-filled junk food aisle.
A nearby family came trundling past; the little girl picked up a candy bar and slipped it through the side of the trolley.
The mom saw everything and rubbed the kid’s hair with an amused smirk.
Toby and I grinned at that, and then we both grabbed for some chips.
We drew back. Toby ran a hand through his hair as I chuckled under my breath. “I mean....” I took both packets of chips and dropped them in.
Toby curled a hand around the end of our trolley. “What were you going to say?”
“It’s not like we can’t both have chips in our kitchens.”
“Yeah,” he said, taking out one packet and setting it back on the shelf. “But we’re going to eat them together, aren’t we?”
I shifted, leaning my arms on the trolley and staring at our shared food items. “They do taste better that way.” I straightened, dropping my shoulders and taking a long breath. “We can watch a movie at the weekend or something.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Or something.”
WE ATE dinner on the bench outside.
The yard was doused in the deep purple light of the setting sun, the rose bushes swaying silhouettes in a warm breeze.
“It’s flourishing,” Toby said, taking my salad plate and setting it on the grass by his side.
He twisted toward me. “Daniel?”
“Yeah?”
He whistled out a breath. “I think I’m going to sell my place.”
From here, his house looked quaint. Quiet. It looked like it was ready to meet a new owner who would liven its insides. Perhaps provide a family.
My house looked....
I blinked. Well, it looked much the same. Ready for a new story.
Just as I was ready for a new story.
“Me too.”
Toby ran a hand through his tousled hair. He shifted in his seat, like he had more to say but wasn’t sure where to start. “I ...I like this city, though. A lot. I still want to live here.”
His gaze fell to his knees. I thought I knew what he might really be saying, and it made me swell inside, like I could float away into the freaking sunset.
“Daniel?” he said, his fingers a nervous flutter pulling at a loose thread on his slacks.
I lifted a finger to his chin and drew his gaze toward mine. His fingers stopped moving.
“Yes, Toby.” It wasn’t a question; it was an answer to the question that had been building up for some time now.
He trembled and leaned in. “Are you...?”
His words tickled over my nose and I answered him by brushing my lips against his. Our breaths hitched and we pulled back just enough to look each other in the eye.
He bit his lip. “Hey, Daniel,” he whispered.
I leaned in and kissed him again, this time tasting more of him, deepening the kiss.
He smiled and I pulled him down to the soft grass with me.
He rested his weight on top of mine, his hard length pushing at my stomach, nudging close to my own.
Grass poked into the back of my neck and my calves, and his heavy warmth sank us into the soft ground. Toby cupped a hand to my jaw and kissed me again. When he drew back and looked at me, I smiled.
This was what I’d been trying to find, I thought. And you were right in front of me the whole time.
I threaded my fingers through the back of his hair and pulled him down, just a little closer, so he’d hear my whisper. “Hey, Toby.”
THE following summer, I met the fortuneteller again. I bumped into her outside the old city monastery.
“So sorry,” I said, stopping when I recognized the streaks of gray in her blond hair, the black beaded pendant in the center of her forehead.
For the first time, her gaze seemed to focus on me. Her breath expelled in a sigh. “How did you do it?” she asked, wonder lighting her eyes, making her seem young again.
Evening sun outlined her in a warm orange glow.
“Do what?” I asked, hooking my finger around the velvet pouch in my pocket. Yes, still there.
“How did you revive your heart?”
Smiling, I looked up toward the monastery roof where Toby was waiting, and told her.
A born and raised New Zealander, ANYTA SUNDAY has been exploring the literary world since she start reading Roald Dahl as a kid. Inspired, stories have been piling up in her head ever since. Fast forward to her mid-twenties and jump a few countries (Germany, America, and back again), and she started putting pen to paper. When she’s not writing or chasing her kid around, she’s reading, hiking, watching Joss Whedon series, attempting pilates, or curling up with her two cats. Updates on her projects can be found on her website.
ANYTA SUNDAY can be found at:
Website: anytasunday.com