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“Jesus, Everett. You’re like a panting dog.” Ryan laughs at me. “I’m about to start barking.”
“I was thinking of something more like colorful. Bright. Resilient. Sprouting up in the places you least expect them and blowing away on the wind just as quickly.” That wicked smile morphs into a full grin. “Beautiful, too, of course.”
“Bella, ti parlerò in qualunque lingua tu mi dica se questo ti farà continuare a guardarmi in quel modo.”
“Don’t stop having fun. Don’t stop chasing your good time. Just…maybe find someone you have a good time chasing over and over again.”
Grief kind of feels like a bullet wound that never fully heals. Sometimes, it’s just a scar, and then other days, you wake up and feel like it tore right through you again, this gaping hole in the center of your chest sucking the life right out of you.
I’m lost to her storm, and I belong to her sea.
“Dahlia,” he rasps, eyes meeting mine. “I speak three fucking languages—three—and when I tell you that there is not one word in any of them to describe the way you look right now. You’re beyond beauty. You’re beyond comparison to anything in this plane of existence. You’re something beyond comprehension. Unreal.”
Making her smile. Hypnotized by her laugh. Putting my lips on her skin and showing her affection. It’s too easy, like something I’m just supposed to do.
“I love blue because it’s so varied. There are a thousand different shades of it in the ocean alone, depending on the depth of the water and the color of the sand, the way it reflects the sun and sky. It’s ever changing, always beautiful. I love the color blue because I convinced myself I’ve seen all its shades. Living on the beach, in a place with as much sunshine as is found here, I’ve seen every variation of the sea and sky.” She blinks at me, and I dissolve beneath the intensity of her gaze. “But the shade of blue staring back at me right now?” I let out a breath. “That shade only exists
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“I love your lips because when they touch mine, I’m reminded of what it’s like to feel something. I love your mouth because it says such sweet things to me.” I smile. “Such filthy things.” She blushes. “I love your mind because it challenges me and intrigues me and makes me think about the world differently. I love the way your brain works. I love the way you speak and think and feel.”
“My love isn’t fickle, Dahlia. I’m not afraid to fight for you. For us. Every second of every day, if that’s what it takes. I’m not afraid of imperfection or reality. I’m not afraid of your broken pieces.” He runs his thumb along my cheek. “I’m broken too, but together, we can be whole.”
“You’re my compass, Wildflower. I’ll follow you forever, because that’s where I find home.”
Something soft and warm settles over me, like a blanket being wrapped around my shoulders in the cold. Like a sense of belonging, something larger than myself telling me I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Whatever compass I’ve been following—while not the direction I intended—finally helped me reach my destination.
He says nothing as he rounds the counter and closes the distance between him and me, grasping my face between his hands and kissing me roughly. It’s a desperate, urgent, needful kind of kiss, the kind that makes you feel like the other person has been drowning and you’re their only source of oxygen.
“The Wicked Wildflower… I thought that could be a good name.” That smile becomes a wide grin as he reaches around to grasp my neck and pull me into him. “I’m Wicked?” I nod, feeling his lips against my nose. “You’re Wildflower?” “So you say.” I lift my chin so my mouth brushes against his. His grin spreads against my lips. “The Wicked Wildflower. That’s fucking perfect.”
