“Why do you call me Peach?” So she had noticed. She hadn’t reacted when I’d said it last night. I’d assumed either she hadn’t heard it or she didn’t like it. I threaded my fingers through her hair. “Because your hair reminds me of a sun-ripened peach on a hot summer day. Because you’re sweet. And because it’s my favorite fruit.” “No, it’s not. You like strawberries best.” “Not anymore,” I murmured, bending to take her lips.
