She didn’t even know she kissed him. She didn’t realize her smiles—and the way she shrugged and laughed—were kisses just as surely as if their mouths met. Each breath she took, every turn of her head to look in his direction, each protracted slow-motion glance was a disclosure of desire. His. And when she squeezed his shoulder, he almost kissed her. But he knew better. Maybe she wasn’t sending the signals he received. But, if she was…? Would his failure to respond be a mistake? Would she interpret it as a rejection?
She was only thirty-one. But she was worldly. She had seen and done things he hadn’t dreamed of. After he heard her stories, though, he wanted to see and do those things with her. The problem, though, was that she was oblivious to his teenage crush; a crush that had grown far beyond the desires of youth, blossoming into the wanton lust of adulthood. He was twenty-seven. Who knows? They had questions. They had desires hidden behind those emotional walls.
Those two…are pliable. If the wind blows just a little stronger, it might shape them the way a sculptor molds wet clay. We can only watch and hold our breath, wondering what will happen next.
I’m sorry, we haven’t even been properly introduced, yet I’m running on about the potential of their relationship as if you and I knew one another well. I’m Belenus, god of the sun and patron of the city of Aquileia. And you are…? Of, of course! Brigid! I should have known! I see poetry in your face and the fire of the forge in your eyes! I feel a little silly talking about sculpting their relationship out of clay, knowing your background in the arts. But, now, since we’re talking, what do you think about them? What is their future? What is their past? What, really, is their story?
If you must know, Brigid did not answer. She simply smiled and glanced in their direction. The look on her face told the story a thousand times.
Strong start. Finish it, I beg you.