It didn’t occur to us to look up. Normally that’s something Jax would’ve mentioned, something about how it’s the last place people look. Saints take him for being right. But I don’t assign blame to either of us. It was pre-dawn, we were covered by the arch and the walls of the narrow street. No one should’ve been out. No one should have seen us.
I guess it just proved Jax’s point that you can never trust assumptions or other people in general.
But I wasn’t thinking about assumptions except for how much I was going to miss him; I didn’t care about other people except for a wish to all the Saints that the enemy left him alone and that he could trust his men to protect him. I don’t think he was thinking that someone could’ve been on the arch above us, either. Otherwise he wouldn’t have taken my waist, his palms blazing through my nightdress, and I wouldn’t have taken his face in my hands and held it there, still, so I could memorize the color and set of his eyes under those serious brows, the lay of his cheekbones, the slant of his nose, the curl of his mouth. I poured out all the memories of us and soaked in them like a bathtub and happiness tickled my skin like bubbles popping.
“I’ll come back,” he said. “We’ll pick apples in the orchard.”
Maybe it was the mention of food that cramped his belly, summoning the demons of spite and date and envy. The reward the boy spy received would’ve fed him for a year.
I don’t normally do romances. But there was something intriguing about this image to me. Also, I’m pretty sure this is Howl’s Moving Castle fan art? lol