Page 73 of Severance

The next thing I know, I’m on the ground, face up. A blurry tree branch hanging above obstructs my nearly perfect view of the gray winter sky.

There’s a noise off to the side and I shift my gaze to see Dakota’s tousled hair drawn against a crystal curtain of white trees. He crawls over to me and pushes my messy locks away from my cheeks.

“Are you okay?” he asks in almost a whisper.

My ears and my head are freezing cold and I realize I must have lost my hat during the fall. “I think so.”

“Are you sure?” His mouth enters my line of vision.

I watch him fumbling with the scarf tangled around my neck, my heart beating like a drum. There’s a shooting pain in my left hip that’s spreading to my stomach and knee.

“Dakota?” I mumble under my breath, reaching for his shoulder.

“Mmm?” He stops messing with my clothes, his eyes locking on mine, and it feels like time stops along with us. It stands still and waits for me to finish forming the sentence.

“Do you have a bucket list?” My voice is little and rough.

“Everyone has a bucket list.” The corners of his lips perk up.

“Is there a spot for me on your bucket list?” I ask.

“I have a spot for you in my life.” He brushes his knuckles against my cheek. “Am I on your bucket list?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, you’re all over it.” I inhale sharply, still trying to catch my breath because my silly heart won’t stop assaulting my ribcage.

“I’m listening.” He quirks a brow.

“I’ve never kissed anyone while lying in a pile of snow.”

Dakota laughs. “As you wish, Moonchild.” His lips come crashing down on mine like a tsunami. He slides his hand to the back of my head, lifting it up from the ground, and we kiss madly until there’s no more air left and we’re both panting and shaking from the cold. I think if I were to pick my own death, dying like this, in his arms, wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.

“We better get out of here before you catch pneumonia,” Dakota says against my mouth, and then he helps me to my feet.

“I’m working on my bucket list, remember?” I giggle, brushing off the snow. My hip and my shoulders are sore and I can bet my whole bakery paycheck I’ve got at least a dozen bruises.

“Hey.” He tightens his grip on my hand and draws me closer. Our bodies collide and his arms trap me in a warm hug. “What other things are on that list?” he asks quietly, his gaze holding mine.

“I’ll tell you later.” I bite the inside of my cheek and my face feels hot all of a sudden as my stomach growls.

“Tell me now.” He pouts.

“I’ll tell you after pizza. How about that?”

“Look at how sly you are.” He cradles my head and kisses my lips gently. “Let’s go look for your hat and then get some pizza.”

* * *

On the way back to Dakota’s place, we pick up a large deluxe pizza with a side of buffalo wings and pasta.

We have dinner in his room on the bed with the hummingbirds flickering above our heads and the food and a mountain of napkins laid out in front of us like we’re having a slumber party. The music that’s playing in the background is unfamiliar and I make a mental note to ask Dakota what band it is.

The truth is, I’ve never had a bed dinner before in my life. My parents always taught me to behave like a lady while at the table, to keep my shoulders straight, and to use the appropriate silverware. If they were to see me right now with cheese dripping down my chin, they’d probably disown me.

Dakota sits across from me, his back resting against the headboard of the bed and his fingers tapping against his thigh to the beat of the song. He’s changed into a clean t-shirt and a pair of loose jeans with a rip in the knee. His hair is tied into a bun, so his face is free from obstruction, perfect for me to stare at. The huge pizza box between us is getting emptier every second. I’m on my third piece and my stomach is still asking for more while the rational area of my brain tells me to stop before I pop like a balloon or get too big for my jeans.

“Okay, pizza’s done. So about your bucket list…” Dakota says, his blue gaze darting between the pizza box and my face. His fingers freeze.

My jaw stops moving and the heat rises to my cheeks. “You’re impossible,” I mumble with my mouth still full of cheese and pepperoni.

---