After a fortnight of intense consolation, she asked him, ‘Why do you keep telling me it’ll be all right? There isn’t anything wrong.’ He shook his head. ‘I saw you lighting a candle. Come here.’ ‘I like candles. They’re pretty.’ He ran his hands through her hair. ‘You like their flicker. You like their transience. I understand.’ ‘There’s something you should know about me,’ she said. ‘I’m a bit of an arsonist. Not serious. I wasn’t going to burn down the church. But I am turned on by flame.’ He laughed and kissed her face. ‘Hush,’ he said. ‘Hush, my love.’ In the morning he woke to twin
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In love with a pyromaniac.
