ONE
Eirabella
"Eirabella, you're on fire!"
My feet instantly freeze in place, the crunching of my boots on the frozen ground silencing as I glance up, startled. Janus, my neighbour, jumps back and stares down at the hand that he’s just dropped as if it’s a hot potato. The empty wicker basket he was taking from me when our fingers grazed topples onto its side in the fresh snow at our feet.
"Prayers to Morath! You’re burning up, Eira! Are you okay?" Janus asks, his voice laced with concern as his brow deeply furrows.
I stare up at him for a moment, rubbing the patch of skin where our hands briefly touched. My light teal eyes meet his deep dark brown ones in silent surprise. He holds my gaze until, unable to stop himself, his face breaks into a wide grin, and he bursts out laughing. I manage to hold my own seriousexpression for a split second longer before joining him in a fit of giggles.
"Oh, you think that's funny? Let's see if you think this is funny!" I threaten as I reach out with both hands and squeeze his grinning cheeks between my palms.
He tries to duck away to no avail and lets out a loud shout as if he's being burned alive.
Probably because he is.
Mother always said that if there were one thing I’d be known for, it would be that I’m always inexplicably, unbearably, incurably hot.
Or, in Janus's opinion,comicallyso.
Rain, hail, sunshine, or snowstorm, my blood always feels mere degrees from its boiling point, every inch of my skin exuding that searing heat.
"Please, someone help me! I'm being cooked alive!" he shouts, still laughing as he grabs my forearms as if to push me away. But if I didn’t know better, I’d say it feels suspiciously like he’s actually pulling me closer.
"Stop moving!” I sputter between laughs. “Just a bit longer, and we’ll have a nice roast Janus cheek dish to go with our buttered cabbage for dinner tonight!"
We both stumble to the side of the road to dodge the cart and horse rattling past us, arms tangled in a standoff, neither willing to let go. Our breaths come in laboured pants between bouts of almost painful laughter. Our years of being friends have been filled with such moments; so many I can’t count them, nor can I even begin to try. Slowly, though, the laughter fades, and my eyes find his again amidst the steam rising from our panting breaths. Sobering, his gaze focuses on me, those deep chestnut brown irises I know better than my own, reflecting something I’m too scared to explore. Slidingdown my slim forearms, his fingers interlace with mine as my hands drop from his face.
"A-Are my hands still h-hot?" I ask, looking down at where we're joined.
"Your hands aren't the only thing hot about you, Eirabella," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You know I’ve always thought that about you.”
Well, that’s quite the admission for what I thought was going to be an innocent Saturday morning walk into town with my best friend.
"I, er, I..." I stammer, unsure of what to say.
My nervous stammer makes his lips twitch again, and his fingers tighten around mine as he leans in so close I can taste his breath. Warm and sweet from the cup of juniper tea we’d shared in my kitchen before our walk. My heart forgets its regular beat and takes on an erratic rhythm as his lips brush against my cheek while he says, "Eirabella, I need you to know that I—"
"Janus! Wait for me!" a voice calls from up the road, cutting him off.
Janus curses softly under his breath, pulling his hands from mine and shoving them into his pockets. Giving me a sheepish look, he then turns toward the voice. "Kahlia! Slow down, we'll wait for you!" he calls out to his little sister as she runs towards us as fast as her little legs can carry her. "Sorry," he murmurs to me, "I forgot I told her she could walk into town with us today. Her birthday’s next week, and Grandmother sent her some coins. She’s got her eye on a pink hair ribbon, apparently."
"It’s no problem," I reassure him, grateful for the distraction as I bend over to pick up the discarded basket. The shift in our relationship over the past year has been increasingly confusing. "I’d much rather spend the walk with her anyway. At least she can keep up with my witty conversation," I tease.
He doesn’t take his eyes off his sister as he rubs his chest, his jaw dropping in mock offence. "Ouch. That hurt worse than those burning hands of yours."
"Mission accomplished," I retort, glad the strangeness between us has broken. Whatever we were each about to say is probably best left unsaid, at least for now. "Hey there, Kahlia," I greet his sister with a wave when she finally reaches us, her cheeks flushed from her run.
"Hi, Ei-ra-bell-a," she says, sounding out my name slowly, her toddler lips still having trouble navigating the four syllables of my name. I’ve known her since the day she was born, heard her first cry as I stood with Janus in his front yard, his hand clutching mine in terror, as we waited for news of her birth. "Horsey?" she asks her brother, tugging on the sleeve of his worn jacket.
He immediately drops to a squat, and in a practised move, Kahlia lifts her chubby leg onto his bent knee and clambers onto his back, her little arms tightening around his neck as he straightens up, giving me a secret wink as he does.
I ignore the slight stirring in my chest.
"We better get a move on, or we’ll be late for Collection and I won’t get to make my Offering. We’ll be stuck with just leftover lentil stew and cabbage for dinner this week," he says.
"Don’t forget the roast Janus meat as well," I add, following alongside the siblings.
