Cherry Pie High
She looks at him over the menu. He stands over her, his pencil poised.
“Dessert, guys?” he asks.
She blinks.
They swung together on a gilded trapeze, through the spray from the fountain. Where they touched the mist, the sun scattered a rainbow. There was a cool shock across her body which made her gasp, hold that breath.
And close her eyes.
She opened them and they stood in a silver moonlit glade. The snow crunched beneath their boots. A flurry of impudent flakes fell in a swirl around them. His face shone from the depths of his fur-lined coat. They guided one another through the frowning, frigid pines to the golden light spilling from a sparkling, spitting fire. His forehead rested against hers and she relaxed into him.
Eyes closed.
The cold, sober interior of the ancient stone church echoed with her footsteps. He stood waiting at the end of the aisle, handsome. He turned and his face glowed with his love for her. She felt the tears well.
Her lids lower — her eyes’ own veil.
Beneath the Eiffel Tower, they twirled and swirled through spotlight-circles that glowed on the flagstones. An eternal waltz, they laughed together whilst spinning, spinning.
The Parisian skyline blurred until she could look no more.
They stood in the ocean. Waves tumbled over one another; their spray white, cleansing. He stumbled as the surf engulfed him but her hand held him firm against the swash. His eyes glinted and, with careless, mischievous passion, he lowered her under the next breaker. She held her breath, pinched her nose.
Her eyes were crinkled shut.
“And for you?”
“Cherry pie for me, please.”
He makes a careful, solemn note of her desired dessert. Then, his gaze fixes on her once more. His eyes see through her.
“Cream or ice cream?”
She blinks.
