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Lila Parker was my exact opposite. Where I was unruffled, Lila shook her tail feathers like a peacock. Where I’d rather have a beer together than argue, she seemed to argue as her primary mode of communication. And yet, here I sat, wondering over her, curious as to the fire that had forged her and the person who’d lit it.
Lila Parker was unhappy. I wondered if she existed in any other state.
God, he was massive, a brute made of muscle and sinew. He belonged to the earth he tilled, cut from stone, hair black as a raven, eyes blue as the sea. Beautiful in the rugged, wild way, unpolished and unrefined and unquestionably right just the way he was.
He’d heard every word I’d said, stored it all in his dumb puppy brain, and drew it up with the ease of a long-practiced artist.
“But I’ve seen enough of love to know if you hold out, it’ll find you whether you want it to or not.”
“I like to think we accept the love we think we deserve, like the old adage says. If you meet as equals, there’s nothing to hide. And if you’re so certain everyone’s out to hurt you, you’ll probably end up hurt.”
She was a tree aflame with autumn. The strike of a match, embers and sparks. A sunset that set the sky on fire.
It was said that everyone was the hero of their own story, and the reason was context. Everyone, regardless of honesty or truth, showed people what they wanted to see. In that, Lila was right. But every heart had a story to tell. A reason. A series of events that, when strung together in the right order, created a person’s self, their motivation and fears.
She cared, but she didn’t want anyone to know she cared. Lila Parker was covered in head to toe dragon scales, impermeable to mere mortals. At least, that was what she wanted everyone to think. But I knew better.
There was no danger of Lila Parker catching feelings for me. I couldn’t be convinced she didn’t actually hate me. But maybe I could help her move on.
I wanted him to shave his face and cut his hair just as badly as I wanted him to let it run wild despite my wishes.
“Nature’s a curious thing. Sometimes it disguises one thing as another, hides its nature to protect it.”
“Have you thought about a rebound?” she asked carefully. “I haven’t even thought about where I’m going to live, never mind dating.” “Nobody said date,” she defended. “But maybe dick is more important right now than a permanent address.”
“You’ve always underestimated the power of a good, frisky roll in the hay. I mean, we even have literal hay in storage at the greenhouse.”
“Wear a tie, and I’ll let you tie me up with it.” “Can I get that in writing?”
Kash had erased my brain like a whiteboard. I could barely remember what I’d been so consumed with a few short hours ago. God, old me was uptight. Past Lila was a drag, and new, improved Lila was bold and wise and happy. Happy.
“My dry cleaner is going to make his rent on me now that I’m sleeping with a gardener.”
But for now, I wanted to be that happy girl in the mirror. And with a sigh, I trotted out of the room, feeling fresher than I should have for being so filthy.
I wished I was the kind of man Lila wouldn’t just fuck. I wished I was the kind of man she’d keep.
It was a strange thing, the knowledge that we weren’t much more than a fling and the sense that we were so much more.
“And what if shrimp learn to whistle and chickens grow teeth? If you want to really live in the moment, stop worrying so much about what if and just go for it. Living in the moment means damning the consequences. It’s about choosing what you want instead of what’s safe.”
“I don’t want to monetize something I enjoy, Lila. I don’t want something I love to become a job. A chore. I just want to play up here in my botanical sex dungeon and create.”
“Because once you ask your passion to make you money, I imagine it would lose its luster.”
“So are you gonna pollinate me or what?”
Without warning, questions rose in my mind, commandeered my heart. Can we be more? Will you be mine? If I promise you something, will you do the same? If I fall in love with you, could you love me too?
“What do you want, Kash? Tell me so I can give it to you.” “For you to be happy. That’s all.”
“I already gave her my hope. How much more can I give?” “You can give her your trust.”
But what you don’t seem to understand is that love doesn’t care where you come from, only who you are. That, and snobbery works both ways. You thumbing your nose at the things she wants is no better than her thumbing her nose at yours.”
“Love doesn’t wonder. It doesn’t question. It trusts with its whole self, as I should have. And when I looked past the things I feared, I uncovered the truth—I was afraid, and I was a fool. Can you forgive me for my pride? Can you absolve me for all the ways I hurt you? Because of all the things I want, your happiness is first and always.”
