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"Chocolate starfish?" My giggle slipped out; I couldn't hold it back. I bit my lip, trying to compose myself, but the image was too vivid, too bizarre.
"Every moment with you, a thingy of beauty." Arnold's voice wavered, earnest despite the choice of words. "This time with you has been like floating in a channel of love, a sense of peace in this quivering world."
"Thingy?" I pressed my hand to my mouth, laughter bubbling up, mixing with an odd sense of endearment. He was trying, god, he was trying.
His sandy hair caught the sunlight as he peered at me, questioning, hopeful. A blush crept from his neck to his cheeks, but he powered on, fueled by feelings that couldn't be quenched by mere mortification.
"Agatha, you...," he finished, a soft sincerity threading through his words, "are home."
"Oh, my sweet gangly prince." My throat tightened, the giggles subsiding. This man, with his cringey phrases and tender heart, he saw me. Not just Angel, the sultry voice, but Agatha, raw and real.
I reached across the picnic blanket, our fingers brushing. The corner of his mouth quirked up, a silent plea for reassurance. He was trying so damn hard, and boy was it working. It took everything in me not to rip off his clothes and straddle that sexy little fun stick and take it for a spin.
"Arnold, that was... unique." I squeezed his hand. "You always keep things interesting."
His shoulders relaxed, the tension melting away. He grinned, that lanky frame of his sinking further into the grass as if my words were a balm to his nervous energy.
"Unique's one way to put it," he said. His blue eyes twinkled, reflecting the clear sky above.
"Definitely memorable." I winked, nudging his knee with mine.
"Good memorable or bad?"
"Good, definitely good." My laughter died down, but the warmth in my chest didn't. It spread, filling every awkward silence with something like fondness.
He took a deep breath, his gaze locked on mine. "I'm glad," he murmured.
The poem was over, his declaration hanging in the air like an unfinished melody. I leaned forward, closing the space between us. His breath hitched, a quiet gasp escaping him.
My lips met his in a soft collision, tentative at first, then firm. I poured every ounce of gratitude into that kiss, thanking him for his earnest, adorable effort. For seeing me, the real me, beyond the sultry voice and the confident facade.
He kissed back, a gentle pressure that spoke volumes. There was no need for words, not when every touch whispered louder than any verse could.
We parted, breathless. His smile mirrored my own—relieved, happy, and a little bit dazed.
"Thanks, Angelcakes," he smiled and ducked his head.
"Thank you, Arnie. For all of this." I gestured around the picnic spot, still feeling the tingle from the kiss.
"Anytime." He promised, reaching for my hand again, his touch grounding me, making this moment real.
In a world of baby girls, I'd finally found my yummy cummie.
