Beth sauntered toward the sound of crashing water, the twinkling dance of a shoal marker providing promise that she was getting close. She felt the unfamiliar tickle of sand beneath her feet as the chilled grains molded together under the weight of each determined step. As if suddenly passing through a barrier, what had once looked like an endless ether of uninhabited space now abruptly registered as the reflective surface of the ocean, lazily mimicking the night sky as if it were swaying to a gentle serenade. She was sure that she had arrived at another planet. For if places like this existed on earth, what in the world was keeping everyone she had ever known in the lowlands of rural Kentucky?

***

Beth was raised in an outdated clergy house, the sententious steeple of the church always visible as a reminder that the almighty was always watching. Being the daughter of a Baptist pastor meant she was tasked with the constant responsibility of representing the church, a crushing weight bestowed upon her since childhood. She was never as proficient at this job she was expected to be, once slapping a girl in grade school who pulled at her ebony braid before calling her a bible pusher. Later that day, as she rolled the peas around on her plate, her mother asked her if she would like to be slapped so that she knew what it felt like.

“We are called to love our neighbors, Bethany. That was an opportunity to teach your classmate about what it is we believe so that she may see the path to salvation as well.”

Beth closed her eyes, gripping the fork so that it left a mark along her palm as she took a steady breath. She opened her eyes to retort but instead saw sister blinking at her from across the table, a silent plea to behave emphasized by the “v” between her eyebrows. How the same mixture of DNA could create two girls of such opposing characters was a mystery to all. While Beth still lacked a basic understanding of obedience, Hannah was three years her junior and had already demonstrated a seasoned aptitude towards the skills of housekeeping which Beth found too mundane to bother with. So as the years drifted by, she watched Hannah blossom into a caretaker just as her mother had done before her. Her soft laugh would float along the pews before Sunday sermon as she chatted with her friends and attracted cautious glances from the suite of soon to be gentleman callers.

Her parents loved her undeniably, their strict principles meant to instill values in a world that seemed to be tumbling towards increasing chaos. But Beth was woven from a different fabric, one that seemed more inflexible with each external attempt to manipulate. When she was in junior high, she started cutting the legs off of her jeans and hiding the cutoffs under the cover of her skirt. She was tall for her age, and the new debut of flesh caught the attention of the star lacrosse player, who walked her home one day and kissed her by her mailbox. Disappointing in most aspects, his teeth clattered with her own as he impatiently forced entry into her mouth. Beth remembered thinking she could do with less saliva as she nervously giggled and looked down at her feet, waiting for him to walk away. Whatever she had expected, that certainly wasn’t it. It most definitely was not worth the look on her mother’s face as she turned around to see her gaze locked on her from behind the kitchen window. Apparently Hannah’s ballet practice had been cancelled this afternoon and they were both home early.

They enrolled her in private school the very next year where she developed a quick companionship with Clara, another new student who had recently moved across the country when her father was relocated for work. Together they passed notes in class and Beth listened to Clara talk about her latest crushes.

“How come you never tell me who you like?” Clara asked one day from across the cafeteria table. “I’m always spilling my guts and you never give me anything.”

Beth watched mesmerized as Clara scrunched her nose with a giggle, her freckles peppering her rosy cheeks beneath blonde bangs. She whipped out a tube of strawberry lip-gloss and applied it liberally while awaiting Beth’s reply. She wondered whether those lips would be any nicer to kiss than her past experience, silently concluding that the answer was obvious. “I don’t know, I guess I don’t like the boys at this school that much.” She attempted to sound nonchalant.

“How about I set us up on a double date? Cory asked me out this morning and I told him I’d think about it. Why don’t I tell him I’ll go if he brings a friend for you?”

“I don’t know, Clara, my mom will kill me if she finds out.” Beth stared down at her pizza, unwilling to meet Clara’s gaze. She noticed too late when Clara stood up from the table and started walking over to Cory Longacre as he sat with his football buddies a few tables over. Beth watched as Clara’s plaid skirt swayed gracefully with each step. Feeling like she wanted to vomit, she deposited her forehead in her palms and focused on her breathing. A few minutes later she felt a playful poke on her right temple.

“Stop being so dramatic. Come stay at my place this Friday. Cory said he’ll bring Dylan and pick us up at 8.” Beth didn’t bother to pick up her head, but nodded her agreement anyways, trying to look as dramatic as possible to hear another giggle. It worked.

Beth’s first date with Dylan was uninteresting, filled with movie theatre popcorn and an instantly forgettable film. But Beth agreed to a second, and a third, and a fourth, because each one ended with a night with Clara where Beth would watch her gleefully dance around her beach themed bedroom about the boy who gave her a kiss on the cheek. As the foursome grew closer with each passing weekend, she felt a growing companionship with Dylan. She liked ruffling his golden curls to gently annoy him, and proudly wore his football jacket on gameday. Still, the part of Beth that was frequently ignored was growing louder, screaming at the back of her brain that something was wrong, and so Beth designed a cage to keep her at bay.

“Do you ever think about what your wedding will be like?” Clara asked one day. She was laying on Beth’s bed, propped up on her elbows to read her history book.

Beth nearly spit her sparkling water out with laughter. “Hello, have we met? Not at all.” She swiveled her desk chair to face Clara so that she could nudge her leg with her toe. “I guess I think about the honeymoon though.” At this Clara sat up and raised an eyebrow, suddenly more interested than before. “Not like that,” Beth snorted, “I just think about where I would go. I’ve never been out of Kentucky, I don’t even know what that would be like.”

“I went to Barbados with my family the summer before we moved here,” responded Clara. “It was beautiful. The sand was almost pink and the ocean was like bathwater. You should definitely go there when you and Dylan get married.”

Beth was silent for a moment, picturing Clara splashing in the waves which she had only seen on TV. “Yeah, one day.”

When Beth was 17 she finally introduced Dylan to her parents. He dressed in a button up shirt to make a good first impression and made sure to only kiss Beth on the forehead before wishing her family a goodnight. He was a perfect gentleman, someone who her parents readily approved of after he started accompanying them to church. Selfishly, Beth liked the comfort of his presence by her side, the stability of knowing that his shoulder was there to rest her head upon, and the look of approval it gave her parents to know that she would end up with a respectable suiter after all.

She foolishly thought that it could stay like that forever.

Until one fateful Friday, when they were both 21, she helped Dylan pack up his suitcase to return to his dorm. He was one year away from a bachelors in engineering from the University of Kentucky. She had been working full time at the local bakery, slowly gaining confidence in experimenting with concoctions that she would occasionally present to the owner. She loaded up the last of his shirts in his large duffel bag, zipped it shut, and turned around to see Dylan on one knee, diamond ring dazzling in his shaking palm. She watched as his mouth moved, making out words like “love” and “forever” but hearing nothing but a crescendoed ringing piercing her eardrums. His eyes were hopeful, full of the love that she couldn’t reciprocate in the way that was needed of her. She knew right then that she had stolen his teens by committing to an unspoken promise that she was about to break. She owed him an explanation and she would figure out how to do that one day. But for now, she needed to leave that room. She needed to leave that town.

‘“I’m so sorry, Dylan. No.” She couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes, focusing intently at the carpet as she walked out of his childhood bedroom. Clumsily, she sleepwalked her way home along the deserted, unpathed road and eventually collapsed back onto the inside of her front door with a tearful sigh. She caught the site of Hannah’s worried eyes peering out from over the top of a book from an armchair in the living room. As if controlled by someone else, she heard her voice travel through the otherwise empty house. “I need you to tell Mom and Dad that I'm okay and that I’ll be home soon.”

***

As she stood on the beach, her thick braid draped between her shoulder blades and glistened in the moonlight. The memory of packing her bag, and booking her flight seemed like a memory shrouded in too much red wine, a feeling she once inflicted on herself after stealing the communion stash the day the rest of her classmates went to prom. Lukewarm ripples lapped at her feet, soaking the bottom of a long, black skirt that would embarrass her father by the way it clung to her hips. Why had she thought she couldn’t come here alone? Her own company was what had carried her through now anyway. She felt something inside her crack. Like a cage rusted by lack of maintenance, coming apart at the seams before crashing open to let free the part of Beth that had been waiting in isolation.

That Beth screamed. That Beth threw her head back and yelled to the heavens for the years that she had spent asleep. That Beth wanted to run, and that Beth got her wish. She was suddenly startled by the sensation of wind hitting her face as she pumped her legs and dashed parallel to the water’s edge. Damp sand sprayed up behind her with every forward leap, her arms pumping desperately to propel her forward. She passed a couple taking a midnight swim and clamped her lips between her teeth in the effort to suppress an apology that was already starting to form. Her heart hammered from beneath her chest and her vision began to blur as the ocean air brought tears to her eyes. She could have ran for hours, and perhaps she did, but her marathon came to an abrupt conclusion as she encountered a wave breaker blocking her path along the beach. Screeching to a halt, she stared at the pile of rocks in amusement, falling to her knees at the lack of momentum.

She allowed her head to fall back before involuntarily succumbing to exhaustion and collapsing atop the powder soft Barbados beach. Orion hung protectively overhead, more distinguished than the Kentucky sky allowed. As she lay there mesmerized, she began to catch her breath and allowed her eyes to slowly close. Her cheeks burned hot, she pictured what she must look like from the heavens. An overpassing own would surely see the heat radiating from her body, imprinting a scarlet figure, haloed in amber, and suspended atop a blanket of the cool expanse surrounding her. She allowed herself to burn brighter than she ever had before, deciding it was better to suffer a few burn marks than never having burned at all.

The first time Rebekah saw Eliza was like poetry. Like the Emily Dickinson description of poetry, feeling like the top of your head has been lifted right off. Eliza had blushed and told Rebekah that she was her first client.

“But I’m learning from the best,” she said. “Tova has 250 married couples under her belt. She’s training me in all her secrets.”

Rebekah nodded, barely aware that she was staring, and ushered Eliza into her mother’s sitting room (her mother liked old-fashioned words like that). Eliza pulled out a list of questions and clipped it delicately to a clipboard that she balanced on a perfect, narrow knee.

“Our clients look for specific things in a wife,” she explained. “So there are no right or wrong answers here. What brings you to seeking out a shadchan?”

“Oh. My mother, I suppose. She thinks I need to be married sooner than later. I thought it was going to happen during college, but here I am twenty-seven and nothing on the horizon. She wants grandchildren and I’m her only real prospect, so I thought… Well, our synagogue is a small one and most of the men my age are already married so I thought I might as well try shidduch.”

Eliza pursed her lips. “Your mother put you up to this? Do you want to be married?”

“I do. I just suppose I thought…” Rebekah trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. But Eliza nodded confidently.

“You thought it would happen naturally. You’d see someone and it would just be, like, boom. You’re in love.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“It doesn’t happen like that for most people, you know. And especially if you want to marry in the community. But what we always tell people is that marriages aren’t based on thrills; they’re based on long-term happiness. Don’t worry, we’ll find you a good one.” Eliza reached forward and squeezed Rebekah’s hand, and gave a broad and beautiful smile of reassurance, and Rebekah felt that she was no longer on this world but had been carried straight away after the top of her head into the world to come.

The second time Rebekah met Eliza was at a small café that had gotten a kosher certificate because they were so close to the Jewish district even though the owners were Korean. She had combed and steamed and ironed her curly hair into submission until it fell in glamorous waves down the side of her face, and had purchased a small pink lipstick from a drugstore on the way. She kept catching sight of herself in the big plate glass windows in the front of the store, and looking away embarrassed, unable to comprehend how much more beautiful she had become with such a small transformation.

She had asked to meet somewhere else because her mother’s sitting room had become oppressive, but when she caught sight of Eliza across the café she regretted it instantly. The wave that washed over her at the sight felt as if it was obscene in this public place, something to be experienced away from eyes. She waved her hand, and again Eliza flashed that brilliant smile that was like a moon shining from its distant orbit.

“You. Look. Stunning.” Eliza slid into her seat. “Not that you didn’t before, but that hair really suits you.” She giggled. “Unfortunately I know how long it probably took you. But if you wear that hair when you go to meet him…”

“I’m sorry, who?”

Eliza sparkled with a secret. “I’ve been showing your picture around. We have an offer.”

“What?” Panic bubbled up her throat. “Already?”

In response, Eliza slid a small box across the table. “As soon as he saw you, he said that you were the girl he was going to marry.”

Rebekah opened the box. Inside were a tiny, perfect set of gold earrings with a matching bracelet.

“What is this?”

“He said that he wanted me to bring a gift when I came to ask if you’d meet him. Rebekah, you’re going to love him. He’s really one of the sweetest men I’ve ever met. We’ve had the hardest time marrying him off for that reason. He’s one of those people who really looks into the soul of a person, and he could see that you had a beautiful soul the same as I could when we first met. I told him that he was picking the best, not that I needed to say anything. If you’re not engaged within the week I’ll be shocked.”

Rebekah’s whole world seemed to blacken out until it was only her and the tiny box, occupying her whole field of vision. What was the answer here? What would make Eliza happy? Would she marry this unknown man just to make Eliza happy? Or would she refuse, and if she did, could she bear to reach across the table and see whatever answer lay in Eliza’s eyes?

“What if it happens?” she asked at last.

“Oh, it will,” Eliza said confidently. “Mr. Abramson is really head over heels.”

“No, I mean… The boom. What if I do this, and then one day…boom. Does that ever happen? With your clients, I mean. Do they regret it?”

Eliza’s face went serious. She took Rebekah’s hand.

“I don’t know,” she said at last. “I don’t know if it happens, or what would happen if it ever did. But I do know that even in love matches, things happen. And I’ve known Mr. Abramson for a long time now. If there was ever anyone you could fall in love with, it’s him. He’s a wonderful man. Serious and kind, a good job, generous to the shul and to charity. He’s a good husband, Rebekah. I don’t know if you’ll feel the boom, with him or ever. But I know that he’ll treat you with kindness and respect and love because that’s how he treats everyone.”

Rebekah was weeping softly, not even bothering to wipe the tears. Eliza had done all of this for her, and now here she was hating it, wanting only to keep that soft, small hand in hers forever. But that wasn’t how this worked. Rebekah closed the small box softly and whispered,

“Let him know I’ll meet him.”

The third and last time Rebekah met Eliza, they were back in her mother’s sitting room. Rebekah was wearing the bracelet and earrings and a diamond ring. Eliza beamed when she saw it, and leaned in with a warm, lingering hug. Rebekah allowed herself to let the smell of Eliza wash over her, musky and soapy and beautiful.

“I’m so happy for you.” Eliza kissed Rebekah on the cheek and leaned back to stare at her, her eyes misty. “It’s such a beautiful thing to see two people so compatible from the beginning. When I saw the two of you meet… It was like fireworks. That man can’t take his eyes off you.”

Rebekah nodded and swallowed hard.

“So?” Eliza asked conspiratorially.

“So what?”

“Was there a boom?”

And this was it. The last chance. Rebekah nodded.

“I knew it!”

“But not with him.”

“I don’t understand.”

Rebekah placed her hands on either side of Eliza’s face, leaned in, and kissed her, so gently that their lips barely touched, but rockets flew up and down her spine. It lasted for an infinite moment, the whole world boiling down into the molecule between them. And then Eliza pulled back. Her eyes were full of a question, and Rebekah knew that the question wasn’t for her but one that Eliza was asking herself.

Then Eliza gasped, or perhaps sobbed. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and she left.

...****************...

Winter

Sadie is an overthinker. Sadie spent all morning deciding whether to wear the blue blouse or the green sweater. She contemplated too long on which shirt would make her look effortlessly casual and after much internal debate, she settled on the blue. As she walked out of her apartment, it just felt wrong so she turned back to change into the green sweater. She’s behind schedule now but she feels better in green so it was worth it.

Hi, I’m Sadie, the internal monologue rushes her along the street.

It’s a beautiful day isn’t it. I’m sure you hear this all the time, but your produce stand is by far the best one at this market.

Sadie repeats the mantra repeatedly as her feet pull her towards the market by the water. The breeze picks up and the words fly around as she struggles to keep them contained on her tongue.

Sadie is late to the market as a result of the agonizing shirt decision. Her favorite (popular) produce stand is out of the Cara Cara oranges and she wonders if the green shirt was worth missing out. She’s never this late to the market and everything good has been claimed and off to their next destinations including Sadie’s favorite cashier, Victoria. She glances around the stall and rocks on her heels.

“Can I help you find anything today?” Sadie is motioned over by a guy with a name tag that says “Simon”.

“Hello,” Sadie breathes out, “are you all out of the Cara Caras?”

Simon winces. “Ah, yeah I just sold the last few. We have some regular navels though if you’re interested.”

“Can I please get 2 bags?” It’s hard for Sadie to hide her disappointment about the oranges and otherwise.

“2 helpings of navels coming right up,” Simon leaves to bag the oranges and returns with a grin, “that’s a lot of oranges for one person.”

“I’m making chocolate dipped candied orange peels for my book club,” says Sadie as she retrieves the bag from Simon, “and they’re addictive so you need a lot of them. I’m going to make juice with the actual fruit and Cara Cara juice is just superior.”

“Sounds delicious! Our Cara Caras are very popular but better luck next time, right? It’s going to be $6.50 for two bags of navels.”

Sadie hands the bills over but stutters when she looks up to see Victoria standing next to Simon. Like she appeared out of nowhere.

“Hi there! I didn’t think you’d make it today,” Victoria beams as she takes the money from Sadie.

Sadie blushes. Was Victoria waiting on her? Does Victoria notice her?

Hi, I’m Sadie. The words are on the tip of her tongue.

“What do you plan to do with all that citrus anyway?” Victoria looks at the oranges clutched in Sadie’s hands.

Sadie opens her mouth to respond and nothing comes out. She’s obviously a fish out of water and she’s never been more grateful to hear Simon’s voice say “they’re for chocolate dipped candied orange peels.”

Victoria quirks her eyebrow first at Simon and then at Sadie. Sadie could say anything at this moment to make things less awkward but Victoria’s curious smirk is too loud for her to figure out how her mouth works.

Simon notices and saves her again. “They’re for her book club. Can you believe we’ve never gotten an invite? And she actually came for the Cara Caras but we just sold out.”

Sadie nods, confirming that Simon has all of the right information. She manages to smile at Victoria and hopes that it didn’t come out as a grimace.

It’s a beautiful day isn’t it. I’m sure you hear this all the time—

“Well, you know, I was saving these for me…” Victoria bends down and re-appears with a grotesque citrus that looks like mangled fingers, “but you might actually get better use out of them. These are called Buddha’s hands and they are absolutely perfect for candied orange peels because of the lemon-y citrus scent and they don’t even have any pulp or fruit. It’s all peel.” Victoria looks proud and offers the strange fruit.

Sadie takes the fruit and can only manage two words: “Thank you.”

It’s not her fault, she thinks. She had everything she was going to say planned out but then Victoria wasn’t here to take her order and then Simon answered all her questions and now Victoria is being so smart and generous that she can’t think anymore. Sadie sees Victoria’s face fall at the impersonal nature of her response.

“I mean, unless of course you want the navels then just go with that, ya know,” Victoria is chuckling, hoping that will ease the nerves all around.

“No, this is great,” Sadie re-assures her, “really, thank you. I’ll let you know how it turns out. How much do I owe you?” Sadie addresses her question to Simon.

“Alright,” says Victoria, “well good luck and please do keep us posted.”

And just like that, everything went absolutely opposite to the plan.

--

Spring

Sadie works from home. It’s nice because she gets to choose her own schedule and she doesn’t have to waste her energy making small talk around the water cooler with her colleagues. It’s not nice because she doesn’t actually use her voice all day and then when she really should (like when a pretty girl is offering her rare citrus) it’s almost like she’s out of practice.

An instant message rings in her headphones.

Eve: So did you ask her?

Sadie: Ask who what?

Eve: Stop - you know who and what. You should bring her some dessert. Everyone likes sweets.

Sadie: I’m not going to discuss this with you on a work chat.

Eve: Okay fine - we’ll talk about it at book club. But seriously, just say something. Anything. You never know!

Sadie logs off.

It’s like clockwork. Put on the sweater, check the mirror for flyaways and repeat the mantra: “Hi, I’m Sadie. It’s a beautiful day isn’t it. I’m sure you hear this all the time, but your produce stand is by far the best one at this market.”

Sadie finds herself at Victoria’s stall and she has two slices of pound cake in her hands. She’s going to hand over the container and say the words.

Except Victoria says, “Well hello there! What’s it going to be today? We have an excellent batch of strawberries...big, juicy and ripe as ever.”

Sadie stutters. How did she know that she came for the strawberries? She’s making a rhubarb strawberry pie for the book club and she already knows that Victoria has the best berries.

“Did you know that strawberries are the only fruit that wears its seeds on the outside?” Victoria grins as she says it.

Sadie hesitates because not only did Victoria grin at her, but she’s spewing facts about fruit and who could possibly form sentences when that’s going on.

“I’ll take 3 cartons, please,” Sadie chokes it out and she’s disappointed because it’s not at all what she planned on saying. Victoria doesn’t even know her name. She thinks about how this isn’t an even playing field because Victoria has a name tag and confidence and all Sadie has is her words dying as they reach her shy lips.

Sadie thrusts the pound cake in Victoria’s direction. Victoria raises her eyebrows, obviously waiting for explanation.

“This is for you,” says Sadie.

Victoria grins again and accepts the container, “what is it?”

“It’s my pound cake. Maybe you can top it with your excellent strawberries.” Sadie is proud of herself. Actual words coming out of her mouth and into Victoria’s direction.

Victoria looks gleeful (and maybe a little surprised) and Sadie decides that she’s addicted to that feeling. That feeling of seeing Victoria happy and excited about something.

Victoria bags up the strawberries and Sadie leaves. Victoria doesn’t even know her name but she loves her pound cake.

--

Summer

Sadie is back at the market and this time she needs blueberries. She’s wearing a blue tank top because she’s trying to have fun with it now.

Victoria banters and Sadie smiles. Victoria never expects much from Sadie. Victoria just enjoys getting treats from Sadie and hearing her say a few words before she’s off with her bounty.

Sadie makes treats with Victoria’s produce. Cherry pie, apple streusel and sometimes peach cobbler. She hands it over and Victoria looks surprised every time and it’s like their little routine. It’s rehearsed and Sadie can manage that.

But sometimes, Victoria likes to deviate from the script. Like today.

“I bet your husband must love that you’re making these treats all the time,” Victoria has a little bit of mischief in her eyes.

Oh no, Sadie thinks. She doesn’t have anything prepared for that kind of statement. But she also cannot possibly let Victoria believe she has a husband.

“Husband?” It’s abrupt and a bit sharp, but it’s clear. Sadie tries to save it with a light smile.

Victoria appraises Sadie and her response. Like she’s trying to parse something deeper from that statement. It makes Sadie want to clarify.

“I don’t have anyone,” she backtracks, “I mean, I’m not married. I’m single. And my name is Sadie.”

“Sadie,” Victoria lets it roll off her tongue, “Wow, I can’t believe I finally get to call you something more than my treat fairy.”

“Treat fairy?” Sadie laughs lightly.

“I like Sadie better.” Victoria says.

And because she’s on a roll, Sadie decides to finish the mantra.

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? I’m sure you hear this all the time, but your produce stand is by far the best one at this market.”

Victoria lights up and Sadie thought that she liked the feeling of seeing Victoria happy, but she actually thinks this might be better. The pure elation that Victoria lets come out of her chest and eyes because Sadie is talking to her and it’s not clipped or short and maybe Victoria is a little addicted as well.

“Well, thank you, Sadie,” says Victoria.

“Anytime.”

And with that, Sadie leaves and feels better than she has all year long.

--

Fall

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Sadie looks up from her book. She’s situated across from the farmer’s market next to the water, enjoying the crisp fall air as it settles around the people milling about the docks.

“It is,” says Sadie succinctly.

Victoria sits across from Sadie and settles her chin in her hand, propped up on the table.

“So,” Victoria starts, “I’m on break and I saw you over here. So thought I’d say hello.”

“Hello,” Sadie is smiling and closes her book softly, “I wish I had a treat for you but I wasn’t prepared to see you today.”

“That’s okay. I like surprising you for a change.”

Sadie doesn’t know what to say. She never rehearsed what to say to Victoria when they’re not at the stall. When they don’t have carrots, grapes and lettuce standing in between them. Now it’s just a table and Victoria’s soft eyes staring at her and words begin to die again.

“You know, I’ve noticed something,” says Victoria. “You don’t talk much. Unless we’re talking about fruit and desserts, it’s very hard to know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Sadie is unsure. She feels clammy under her gaze and wishes she was back at the stall where she has her lines and her desserts to defend her.

Victoria goes to stand. She knows that Sadie is spooked. Victoria is bold but she’s learned to be cautious with Sadie and maybe this was too much.

“Well, I hope to see you this Sunday,” Victoria gives her best smile and begins to walk away.

Sadie has to riff. Improvise. Say anything that might make Victoria think that it’s okay to approach her outside the produce stand.

“Do you like dancing?” Sadie is abrupt and stands as she says it.

Victoria stops and quirks her eyebrow, “do you dance?”

“Dancing doesn’t require talking. We could go out dancing. It could be fun.” Sadie shrugs and she’s losing that little bit of confidence that caused her to even start this conversation.

Victoria clicks her tongue and looks up at the sky. The air is crisp and a breeze brings the words to her mouth, “Dancing sounds fun. It’s a date.”

Sadie grins and now Victoria is definitely addicted. Addicted to that feeling of seeing Sadie happy and excited about something.

It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?

--

Winter

“What can I get for you today?” Victoria asks Sadie like clockwork. The winter breeze bites at her hands that hold two coffee cups as she studies the fruit strategically placed on the stand.

“Hmm,” Sadie pauses, “do you happen to have any persimmons? Hachiya, specifically.”

“Oh no, Sadie, I just sold the last batch,” Victoria’s ear-to-ear grin contrasted with the bad news.

Sadie sighs, “Well that blows...I planned on making persimmon pudding cake. It’s my girlfriend’s favorite winter dessert.”

Victoria clicks her tongue and contemplates as she makes a show of looking underneath the tarp behind her, “Well would ya look at that — 4 perfectly ripe Hachiya persimmons that seem to have gotten separated from the group.”

Sadie laughs at the faux surprised look on Victoria’s face. Instead of taking the persimmons from Victoria, she moves behind the produce stall and trades them for the coffee cup in her left hand.

“How much do I owe you?” Sadie asks.

“Oh, for you? It’s on the house,” Victoria smirks over the rim of her paper cup, “as long as I get some of that lovely pudding cake.”

“I think we can probably arrange that,” Sadie smiles lightly before leaning in to softly place her lips against Victoria’s. Sadie thought Victoria left her speechless before, but that was nothing. This is speechless. This is breathless and speechless wrapped up in one and she’s more than addicted at this point.

“Did you know,” Victoria pulls back slightly, “that there are over two thousand varieties of persimmons, but only two types are available commercially—”

“Morning ladies,” Simon coughs from behind Victoria. Sadie watches a blush creep over Victoria’s cheeks.

“Hi Simon,” Sadie hands over the other coffee to him, “this is for you.”

“For me?” Simon feigns shock.

“It’s the least I can do for subjecting you to this all the time,” Sadie motions between the small space separating her from Victoria.

“That’s very generous,” Simon nods, “and you’re welcome. For saving you when you were too useless to do anything about your crush.”

Speechless, breathless, useless. All of the above if that means Sadie gets to make treats for Victoria everyday.

Sadie blushes.

“Oh don’t worry,” Simon adds, “she was just as useless as you. I’m just glad I don’t have to hear her agony as soon as you leave anymore.”

Simon ducks as a grape flies towards his head, “And with that, I’m off. Have a nice Sunday, ladies.”

“That guy,” Victoria shakes her head and turns back towards Sadie. “Now, where were we?”

“You were telling me about persimmons,” Sadie is cut off by Victoria’s lips again.

“Ah yes, not important,” says Victoria, this time while placing butterfly kisses on Sadie’s cheeks.

Sadie pulls back, “Well, I better go and get started on this dessert for my girlfriend. Where are you headed?”

“Closing up shop to go eat some dessert with my girlfriend. Strange coincidence.”

Sadie grins and leaves without another word. It turns out that every day with Victoria is a beautiful day.

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