It takes a leap of faith

Amalia

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stop thinking so much

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The temptation to reach out and play with his hair is nearly overwhelming as he shakes his head, her fingers itching dance over his shoulders, following the remaining rivulets of water down his chest, to trace the curves of his musculature and feel the beat of his heart. She loves this playful version of the man, his lilting grins and mischievous glances, the way he takes her foolish tale and continues to string it along. Amalia arcs an eyebrow at his mock disappointment, affecting an expression of wounded pride. "It was a ferocious battle," the baker protests indignantly, lacing her fingers in with his, her elbows on the table as she leans toward him. "You thought the gourds were bad... our blackberries are truly murderous. I was doing a public service." A grin lights her angular face as he presses her fingers against his lips, reaching out to caress his cheek, her thumb running playfully through the still-damp curls.

He settles back, and she does too, though her foot slides forward to brush against his, her long leg pressed languidly into his calf. "What about you? What did you do today?" What does he do when she is not there, what actions and adventures does he engage in, what kind of mayhem does he dream up? She imagines him marching through the fields, waging war and fighting scoundrels, casting light in a bitter world.

Or perhaps he stays home. Maybe he knits. Amalia does not know, but ah, she wants to- wants to know everything about him, from the grandiose to the mundane, details and dreams and secrets and songs.

Slipping her last bite of pie into her mouth, Amalia hums appreciatively around the fork, taking her time to savor the flavors before at last pulling it from off her tongue. "Delicious. Ah. I might be too full for anything else. Oh well, time to go." So saying Amalia moves to stand, a mischievous challenge in her dark glittering eyes.

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you're breaking your own heart

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