“What are you going to do, Naomi?” There’s a frisson of anticipation and suspense in his tone; something that still hopes, in spite of our constant attacks. I reach for a sharp weapon but don’t find any. Facing him on our battlefield, I drop all my armor. “Cry,” I whisper. The strings of our reserve snap and he falls onto me, astride my lap, knees digging into the couch to support his weight. His fingers tangle in my hair and his lips find mine, soft and warm and inviting.
