LOIRE VALLEY, FRANCE
The melodic humming of his wife faintly echoes throughout the greenhouse kitchen, her voice hidden under the more pronounced noises of glass jars clinking together and the faucet running.
As Harry hunches over the granite countertop and gingerly trims the miniature bonsai tree he proudly grew himself, his ears tune into Nadine's movements. He's acutely aware of the soft padding of her slippers against the tiles and the slight graze of her robe against his sweater vest whenever she passes by. It's as if she's some soundless angel who doesn't like to make her presence known yet can't help but enthrall everyone with her heavenly poise.
He will often glance up while snipping away with his garden shears and follow her figure as she gracefully floats around the kitchen and pickles various vegetables that will eventually be donated to the orphanage on the outskirts of town. The cucumber she's currently slicing is from one of his many gardens on the property. They are Harry's pride and joy. He plants abundant seeds every season, then tends to the soil and sprouts until he can harvest them. Their primary use is to be thrown into either jars or on dinner plates, resulting in whatever his wife wishes to cleverly concoct.
"Nadi, can you please fill this up for me?" Harry asks, fidgeting with the fragile pump of the plant mister in his hand.
In a second, she's by his side, carefully taking the empty glass bottle from his grasp. "Hot or cold water?"
He smiles dotingly at her lack of knowledge about succulent maintenance. She has more expertise relating to culinary uses for fruits, vegetables, herbs, and spices, while he takes care of the botanical aspect.
"Lukewarm since we've had sunny weather lately," he replies as he checks how dry the compacted soil in the pot is. "Thank you."
She nods and heads to the sink, turning the handle to the left. Harry pauses what he's doing and admires how her smooth, bronzed skin and silky black hair glimmer in the natural light pouring through the greenhouse panels. He often finds himself wanting to splay his hands on every part of her warm body and let his ceaseless love seep into her, sweet and absorbent like caramel drizzle on a dessert. Whenever she innately reacts to his touch, it melts him into a puddle of molasses the same color as the deep pools of her irises. And when the sun hits her brown eyes just right, he becomes entranced. She's his saccharine daydream.
Once Harry is satisfied with the trimming of his beloved bonsai, he moves on to the second task he planned to finish this morning. A woven basket sits beside him on the floor, holding a bundle of eucalyptus and myrtle leaves he broke off from the trees in the front yard. He had already cut a piece of gold wire to form the brittle blades around it, but he didn't know where to go from there. He wants to make a leaf crown for Nadine. However, he's never attempted a crown with leaves before, only with the lily of the valley and jasmine flowers he grows by the windowsill in their bedroom. The two white blossoms represent femininity and sensuality, a perfect blend of his wife's soul.
"You are standing so still, lover," Nadine says, setting down the filled plant mister. "What are you doing? What are those leaves for?"
"You ask too many questions," he teases with a prolonged kiss on her forehead.
She frowns halfheartedly. "Laisse-moi entrer dans ton jardin de secrets."
Harry's neck flushes from the way she effortlessly switched languages. "Seulement si tu me laisses entrer dans ton pot de secrets," he murmurs against her temple, jerking his chin toward her glass jars all neat in a row.
"I'm making pickled cucumber and carrot salad for lunch since I have leftover scraps," she says enthusiastically.
Running his fingertips through her hair, he twirls the short strands and says, "I'm making a leaf crown for you."
"Why?"
"Why not? Are you worried it won't be as good as the ones the kids make you at the orphanage?"
Nadine doesn't answer and just stands on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull him down for a slow kiss. Harry exhales blissfully and relaxes in her hold, placing his hands on her waist and moving his mouth against hers. He could kiss her lychee-colored lips for eternity if possible.
When she separates her lips from his with a wet pop, Harry begins swaying her to the mellifluous lullaby from the summer birds and wind chimes outside the greenhouse. He grabs her left hand and interlocks his fingers with hers, his other hand tenderly cupping her cheek. A sunrise dance happens frequently, whether it's in the kitchen, bedroom, or garden. Most of the time, they don't even involve music or the ambiance of nature, simply their hushed voices and synchronized heartbeats filling the space.
"Are you planting anything new today?" Nadine asks quietly.
Harry smears another kiss on her lips. "Just some arugula and parsley."
What she doesn't know is that yesterday while she took a trip down to the valley by herself, he planted her a bed of foxtail lilies in a concealed flower bed behind the tall grape trellises. He precisely calculated when they would bloom into tapered pink and yellow spikes so they could be her birthday surprise when late spring rolled around.
Nadine tilts her head to the side and smiles dreamily. "Can I watch you do it?"
"I'll let you if you smoke with me in the bath later."
She raises her thick eyebrows. "You want to get high before noon?"
"My body will be aching from crouching, and I want to relax before your family visits tomorrow."
"Of course, mon chéri."
Harry hums contently and strokes the pad of his thumb across her plump bottom lip. "Let me finish your crown, and then you can ogle at me in the garden, oui?"
——
"Sacré bleu, Nadi!" Harry shouts dramatically when she walks through the patio door completely nude.
Her curves and soft skin look ravishing under the European sky, and the sunbeams gloriously cast upon every stretch mark and blemish. He notices she's wearing his misshapen leaf crown from where he sits naked in the outdoor bathtub, reading yesterday's newspaper with a lit joint perched between his fingertips. Thankfully, no neighbors can see them in their vulnerable state since the backyard is closed off with a high wooden fence shaded by clustering chestnut and poplar trees.
Nadine gasps and kneels next to the tub, stealing the joint from him and taking a quick hit. She beautifully exhales two rings of smoke before saying, "You started without me."
"Pardonne-moi, ma reine," Harry says lowly as he flings the newspaper onto the grass and grabs her wrist to help her into the warm water. He plucked some red petals off the nearby rose bush to let float on the surface, and also brought out some bars of natural soaps Nadine handmade with excess fruit peels and herbs. She's craftier than him, but he thinks they make a good pair. He grows the plants, and she makes use of them.
Nadine's back meets his bare chest, and every muscle in his body instantly eases with the pure and healing touch of her skin. He spent hours in the sunlit garden planting autumn seeds and sneakily tending to the foxtail lilies, so the tendons in his shoulder blades feel inflamed, and his hands are decorated with new calluses. The dirt under his fingernails had been scrubbed clean while he waited for Nadine, yet there were still scrapes and aching muscles he wanted her to take care of. He's not embarrassed to admit that he likes to be babied by her.
"I brought your razor and shaving cream," Nadine tells him, setting the two objects on the edge of the tub.
Harry's lips downturn with confusion. "For you or me?"
She turns in his arms to face him, bending her legs crisscross applesauce style. "You, miteux."
"Translation, please."
"Scruffy," she whispers like it's confidential.
A whiny laugh escapes his mouth. "Thought you liked it," he drawls, stroking circles onto her hips.
"Too itchy when you kiss me." She takes another hit before passing the joint over to him.
"Like this?" he asks before leaning forward to rub his cheek against hers and puckering multiple kisses against her skin, making a high-pitched laugh bless his ears.
"Oui, like that!" she expresses through giggles and a wide smile.
He lightly nips her jaw and murmurs, "What do I get in return for letting you shave my face?"
Nadine chews on the inside of her cheek, her dark eyes dancing over his entire body. "I think," she says while placing a wet rose petal on his collarbone, "you know exactly what I'll give you."
Harry swallows, his eyes fluttering shut. "Is that right, my darling?"
"That's right. You need to behave right now, though, or I might nick you."
"What a shame that would be, hmm?" His hands flex on her hips. "Can't go ruining my pretty face."
She cups water in her palms and pours it over the petal on his skin until it delicately falls off. "Your reflection in the bathwater is turning you into Narcissus."
"That's funny, considering your crown makes you look like Echo," he says, tucking a loose eucalyptus leaf under the wire. Are you going to start repeating everything I say?"
"No, but I'm obsessed with you like she was.
Who knew mythology could be so erotic? Harry feels his cock throb and harden as he softly kisses her neck and mumbles, "Such a sweet girl."
Nadine has an amount of self-control beyond comprehension because she suddenly scoots back and picks up the razor and container of shaving cream without another word. She begins applying a layer of the foamy cream on his scruff, spreading it on his neck and Adam's apple.
After inhaling from the joint, Harry blows the smoke toward the afternoon sky and casually rests his arms on the tub's edge as his wife shaves the stubble above his lips. She looks adorable with a concentrated furrow to her eyebrows and her tongue poking out slightly. Her body leans close to him, the curve of her breasts touching his chest and the tip of her nose grazing his own every so often. Her unoccupied hand tilts his chin to the side so she can work on his cheek. The soothing nature of her movements and the warm water engulfing his sore body feel more delightful than the weed that permeates his lungs and senses.
"Don't fall asleep on me, moonflower."
Harry's eyes blink open and blearily focus on her. He didn't realize he nodded off. A lazy smile makes its way onto his face when he sees her eyes rimmed with red from the joint she apparently took for herself while he wasn't paying attention.
"Tu me rends le bon genre de somnolent," he replies with a slur of impeding tiredness.
Nadine washes off the remnants of shaving cream on the right side of his freshly smoothed cheek. "You ramble such nonsense when you're high," she says, quickly finishing shaving the rest of his face. "Excusez moi. I'm not high... yet."
"You are. Know how I can tell?"
Harry settles his hands on her thighs. "Humor me, sunflower."
"I know because you are hard, and I haven't even done anything yet," Nadine whispers in his ear.
She's not Echo; she's the goddess of love. His Aphrodite, ironically surrounded by rose petals and wearing a crown adorned with myrtle leaves, sets the razor in a safe place under the tub and then straddles his thighs. She knows exactly how to make him weak putty in her hands.
Extinguishing the lit end of the joint in the water, Harry flips his palms up in invitation and says, "Do your worst, dove."
——
The euphoric high reaches Harry's fingertips as he touches the blades of grass he lies on. To the touch, they feel as soft as a cloud. To the eye, they are feathery and verdant.
The blue and white striped shirt he put on after the bath warps due to his spinning mind, the lines bending and blurring until they make his eyes cross. He and Nadine went through three joints each. Maybe four. Either way, the aftermath of sex while high and then proceeding to get higher has Harry feeling like he's levitating outside of his body. Although he can't complain when Nadine lies beside him, laughing infectiously over something he doesn't remember saying mere seconds ago.
"What did I do?" he asks, his speech slower and more drawled from the weed that passed his tongue.
"You were going on about" — she pauses for a moment to regain her breath — "about your dream that you had last night."
"Oh." He rubs his eyes and begins giggling over whatever is making her so happy. "Where did I... what part did I leave off at?"
"The part where, apparently, our thirty nonexistent children were blooming in the garden, and they were all wailing so much, but the only way to get them to stop was to water them."
"Shit, that's right. What a bizarre dream."
Nadine reaches over and pinches his stomach. "Could you imagine having to take care of thirty children? Oh, mon dieu!"
"We could do it," he says with faux confidence. "Babies are sort of like plants, right?"
She snorts and replies, "I would rethink that statement."
He's thinking ahead and can't stop the thought from crawling across the crevices of his brain like scandent stems. "One day, we'll have little snap peas running around the garden," he muses, the words sounding far away when he says them.
"Snap peas, like... bébés?" Nadine asks for clarity.
Harry looks over at her, his heart melting like candle wax at the innocence that laces her question. "Oui. Tant de bébés."
"Where is my say in this?" she asks with a prod to his sock-covered foot.
He smirks, rubbing his eyes again. "You have all the say in the world, dove. Just tell me when, and I'll drop everything for you."
"When what?"
"When you're ready for bébés."
He sees it. He wants it. He needs it. He feels a deep yearning for the possibility of them having Nadine's eyes of maple syrup and heart of sweet honey. If they'll laugh in three breaths like her and have her lustrous hair, or if they'll cackle obnoxiously like him and inherit his wild curls. He'd like either outcome. He'd like it a lot.
"I think I will be ready in the spring," Nadine says. "I do not want to be pregnant in the winter."
"How come?" Harry murmurs, dizzily rolling over and nuzzling his face into the velvety skin of her stomach, which is exposed below her cropped tank top.
"I don't thrive in the cold, so it would be a living nightmare for me," she says, tilting his face upwards. "And I wouldn't be able to show off my baby bump if it was cold all the time."
"Nadi baby," he says while letting her poke his dimples, "do you realize that if you get pregnant in the spring, you'll be ready to pop during wintertime?"
"I can't do math when I'm high. Too many months." She uses her strength to switch positions and lay on top of him, squishing his cheeks, her favorite thing to do. "But you have to promise me a bébé in the spring."
He hooks his right pinky with hers and says, "The foxtail lilies should be in full bloom by then. They'll be our good luck charm."
He didn't mean to say that out loud, and now he just utterly ruined the surprise. Damn those three or four joints.
"Hmm? Foxtail?" Nadine bemuses, tracing the slope of his nose with her pointer finger.
Sighing to himself, he knows there's no faultless way to dig himself out of the hole he created. "For you," Harry says shyly. "I planted a bed of foxtail lilies for you that will hopefully bloom in time for your birthday."
She goes silent, spreading her hand on his cheek and parting her lips. Harry wishes he could have kept the details of his romantic gesture locked away in his conscious mind, but the way she's looking at him right now makes the mistake worth it.
"My heart," she whispers sweetly, pressing a long and tender kiss to his lips. "My love. You did that for me?"
"It was supposed to be a surprise," he says with cheeks the color of the peonies by the patio.
"Hey, listen. Don't fret about it, all right?"
"Okay. Oui."
Nadine rests her head on his chest. "Oui."
"Oui oui oui," he repeats with a ticklish breath in her ear during each staccato syllable.
"T'es chiant," she grumbles, pushing his face away.
Harry cradles the back of her head, resting his chin on top of it and soaking in her presence she so graciously allows him to cherish. What a wonder to be able to hold a daydream in his arms.
Idyllic paintings could be inspired by her ethereal face and figure, especially when accented by her smile in the sunshine. She could be sculpted and hidden at the back of the most grandiose museum, yet Harry would always find her under the spotlight. She bears fruits of devotion that are seductive and sweet between his teeth, seeds from pomegranates and nectarines coated in aphrodisiacs.
His goddess of pure love is soon to be surrounded by a bountiful bed of foxtails, and if the spring season is kind to him, little snap peas will grow alongside it.
——