“I never grow tired of hearing about love,” she murmured softly into the freckled fold of his ear.

It was late autumn and the ground beneath them was solid and angry—crying out for snow or warmth or both.

He refused to look at her and instead climbed a tree.

“You’re going to have to come down eventually.”

He shifted his body away from her and the girl sighed, tying up her strawberry hair and climbing to a nook beside him. There was silence for a long time. She watched the robins in the red berry tree beside them picking dying fruits from its branches and tried to imagine herself as tiny and brave as them. “The robins stick around all winter, you know,” she said softly. The words trickled from her lips in a stream of silver smoke.

“That’s longer than you can, it seems.” His spite stung like ice droplets in her warm, sunny locks and skin.

Reaching over to touch his hand, she sighed. “I stayed for you longer than I ever have for anyone else,” she whispered, holding tight to his frosty fingers.

“You’re so warm,” he responded in a low, instinctive tone. He latched onto her tea kettle fingers.

She winced slightly but did not pull away. “Well, what did you think?”

“I thought we were for ever.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I always forget how short I really am…”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“So you’ll stay?”

For a moment, there were fireflies in his innocent eyes. A thorn ripped at her loudly pulsing heart and she felt what might have been sadness welling up in the crevices between her ribs. “No.”

He reached out morosely to stroke her vivid hair—the color of sunlight dancing on red wine.

She closed her eyes and pulled away, dropping from the tree and shaking her hair loose.

Then, she ran.