Page 68 of Ladybirds

It is nothing short of terrifying.

She licks her lips; tries to ignore the fluttering in her chest and get ahold of herself already. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he breathes, gaze lowering to her mouth. “Happy to be of service.”

Her heartbeat drums in her ears, a flush rising up her neckline. He can’t possibly know what he’s doing to her, can he? There is a glassiness, a drunkenness, to his gaze that makes her suspect he mustn’t. She clears her throat, praying her voice won’t break. “You can let go now.”

He blinks, eyes darting to their connected hands, and has the decency to look mildly uncomfortable. “Ah. Yes, of course.” His grasp loosens, fingers unfurling from her skin. She doesn’t miss the way his hand flexes once it’s returned to his side.

She lowers her gaze, studying the number of spots along the ladybugs shell. Five. “Oma used to say if you found a ladybug with less than seven spots, it meant there would be a good harvest.”

“That’s preposterous. The number is clearly indicative of how many happy months await you.”

Sara laughs under her breath, turning her hand so the ladybug can crawl across her palm. “Oh yeah?”

He nods, mockingly solemn. “Oh yes. That and how many children are in your future.”

Snorting, she sends him a disbelieving look. “You’re making that up.”

His smirk is wide enough to dimple. “Not fond of that one, I take?”

“Not even a little bit,” she admits.

“It’s mere superstition. An excuse to look forward to something that might not come.” His eyes follow the ladybug’s path from her finger to her elbow, before she collects it with her other hand. “Still, I will confess I always find myself a touch more cheerful for seeing them.”

Sara hums, unable to disagree as she coaxes the red bug from her thumb to her forefinger. Its wings open, a split second warning, before flying off her knuckle. It passes right through Seth’s shoulder.

He chuckles, turning to watch the ladybug disappear into the horizon. “Suppose that confirms it.”

Sara frowns in the direction it disappeared. “Why, though? What’s the difference?”

“Hm? Oh. Well, I suspect it’s intelligence. Cats and dogs—certain birds—seem to have no trouble.”

It should make sense—at least to the degree that anything ever does when it comes to him—but it doesn’t fit. Not quite. “But then people—other people—would see you, too.”

“No,” he murmurs, smile dimming. “We’re too selfish a species to see what’s in front of us. Not until it affects us, anyway.”

“Well, don’t sugarcoat it.”

“Sugar is overrated.”

“Maybe because it’s been too long since you had any.”

He smirks, crooked and dimpled. “Touché.”

Sara chews her bottom lip, fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve. “We should make a cake,” she says, trying to slow her heart long enough to sound casual. “You know, when you’re human again.”

Seth is silent for so long, his gaze a weight. She can’t help but glance up. His expression is unreadable—a mix of so much she can’t name.

She shrugs, offering a nervous smile—anything to break the stillness. “Don’t you think?”

“I think it’s too much to hope for,” he admits, so softly it’s little more than a chime on the breeze. “But it’s a lovely thought, isn’t it?”

Sara leans back, grass tickling her ears. The clouds are pretty today—full and scattered. “What kind?”

He tilts his head, brow furrowing in thought. “The kind with those ridiculous rainbow colored chocolate chips.”

She fights a smile. “You want your first dessert to be something you can mock.”

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