Page 135 of Fumiko and the Finicky Nestmate
“Such things are said to rely upon a compatibility of souls. And mutual devotion.” He quietly added, “Few ever see one. Fewer still display one.”
“You like the idea?”
Resuming his seat, Juuyu folded his hands in a manner that fanned his fingers over his heart. Head bowed, he murmured, “I would never presume. Perhaps you would favor me?”
Fumiko hesitated. “Is it silly? Since this will only wash away?”
“Having seen Zuzu in full bloom once, would you cease to look up in summertime?”
“Never!” The very idea was an absurdity approaching sacrilege. “Every summer is different. And rapturous!”
Juuyu crooked his fingers, encouraging her to come closer. “If I kissed you once, would you be satisfied for all time?”
“I would want more.” Truth be told, she wanted more now.
“While some things can be done once and for all, many more things are meant to be renewed. You may mark me as you see fit and as often as you desire.”
Fumiko was pleased that he’d compared flowers to kisses. In little ways, they were beginning the give-and-take of union. Popping open the plastic egg, she dribbled white paint into its hollow. So stark. She asked, “What color are phoenix eggs?”
“Coloration varies by clan.”
“Your clan?”
Juuyu inclined his head. “Pale gold. With white and orange flecking.”
She could almost see it in her mind’s eye. A drop of yellow. A dab of orange. Then she eyed her phoenix thoughtfully. “Wrist, I think. So you can see.”
He rolled up his sleeve.
She circled a fingertip at the spot.
His pulse leapt, but his voice remained calm. “Should I hold the paint?”
“Good idea,” she murmured.
Her brush twirled.
His breathing slowed.
She added shade and shine. Mixed half a dozen flavors of orange. Dabbed and dotted. Her painting was small as a nippet and certain to fade, but it was an eggshell. “Will it count?”
“Mmm. Admirably.” Juuyu angled his head in a manner she was beginning to recognize. “Your favor rests upon me. May I beg a favor in return?”
Fumiko painted a tiny heart over his eyebrow. “What would you like?”
“I want to introduce you to my brother.”
FORTY-SEVEN
Balancing Act
Akira was only half-listening to Uncle Jackie, who’d reverted to English in his enthusiasm for California street fashion. Or something. Akira was more interested in Suuzu’s reaction to all this. Their gazes met over Jacques’ chest, and Suuzu’s fingers tightened around his.
His gaze was the pleading sort, as if he were trying to send private messages.
Akira wished that they really did have that sort of connection. Michael could wax eloquent about the brush of souls. Apparently, tending let you see someone’s private self. Or … sense it. You’d catch onto their moods and emotions. Understand truths they might not even know about themselves.
It’s not that Akira didn’t know a lot about Suuzu. He did, but they’d needed time and togetherness and words. They could talk this out, as well. They needed to. But as Jacques’ plans piled up, Akira was beginning to wonder if they’d be given the chance.
