Page 67 of Ladybirds

“Really?” she asks, a smile in her voice. “You have magic powers that can take you anywhere in a couple of snaps and you’re hitching rides on planes?”

“I told you, the seats are comfortable. Besides,” he looks up at the sky, a wistful smile curling his mouth. “The view is much more pleasant.”

“I’ve only flown a couple times,” she admits. “When I was little, we went to visit Dad’s parents in Georgia once or twice before they passed away.”

“It’s invigorating. The fact that you can fly at all… people take the miracle of it for granted.” He turns to her, eyes soft. “The world is a big place, Sara. It would be a shame to live your life and only see a tiny corner of it.”

Dropping her gaze, she picks at the leftover pink nail polish from graduation. Jen had insisted they get manicures together to celebrate. “It’s not like I don’t want to,” she murmurs. “I wanted to go to the West Coast for college, but the prices…” She shakes her head, folding her knees up to her chest. “I could barely afford the in-state tuition here.”

Seth studies her for a long, quiet moment before turning his attention back to the sky. “You’ll have the opportunity and I’ll be here to ensure you take it. You are meant for bigger things.”

Her laugh is breathy, a knot she wasn’t even aware of loosening in her chest. She remembers how Oma’s friend, Janice, had assured her of the same thing. “You don’t think I’ll end up a penniless want-to-be photographer?”

“I don’t,” he says, softly. It sounds like a promise, and with the way he looks at her—like he truly believes it—coaxes her into believing it. Then his smile turns teasing. “Not penniless anyway. There’s always the casinos.”

Groaning, she tosses a pebble at him. It passes through his middle without resistance. “You’re terrible.”

“Perhaps a little,” he admits, but his grin is wide and unrepentant. Then a frown knits his brow. “You have a ladybird in your hair.”

“A what?”

“A lady—blasted American butchering of the English language.” He sighs, resigned. “I believe you call them ladybugs.”

Sara grunts, blindly inspecting her hair with careful fingers. “You call insects birds, but we’re the ones that screwed up the language? If you ask me, I’d say we fixed it.”

“Not bloody likely,” he gripes. “And you’re doing an abysmal job, honestly. At the rate you’re going, you’re going to crush the poor thing.”

She drops her hands with a huff. “Well, would you like to do it then?”

“I would, in fact. Unfortunately, I have this rather pertinent handicap.” He holds up his hands. “Ghost. Remember?”

“That doesn’t stop you from petting Ansel,” she grumbles.

“We have an agreement. He asks, I provide,” he says, waving a hand flippantly before pointing at her head. “I strongly suspect that your ladybird won’t share the sentiment. Besides, I doubt it can even see me.”

“Ugh. Fine. Can you just—I don’t know, show me where it is at least? I can’t feel it, and I don’t really like the idea of bug guts in my hair.”

He stills, eyeing her strangely. “You... want me to touch your hair?”

That was not at all what she had in mind, but (actually) that would be a hell of a lot more helpful. “Yeah?”

She can visibly see him swallow and there is a jerkiness to his limbs that betrays his awkwardness. “Very well. Move your bumbling digits aside, then.”

Folding her hands in her lap, she holds still as he moves to her side—just out of her peripheral vision. His fingers are gentle, coaxing, as he separates a lock of hair from the others. Sara fights the hitch in her breath.

“Your hand.”

“What?”

She can hear his sigh. “Give me your hand.”

Tentatively, she raises her right hand. The feel of his long, tapered fingers against her pulse (so terribly soft and yet incredibly intimate) nearly has her snatching it back, but his grip is gentle and guiding. Cool against her flushed, sun drenched skin.

He guides her fingers toward her crown, holding her still until Sara feels the tiny tickle of feet crawling over her fingertip.

“There we are,” he murmurs, slowly lowering her hand until it hovers in front of her nose. “One ladybird.”

Turning her head up to look up at him, she feels her hair slip through his fingers and struggles to withhold a shiver. There must be something in her wide-eyed expression, though, because his eyes are dark and hooded—lips soft and parted with an emotion Sara doesn’t dare interpret.

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