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It was her idea to climb the tree, not that he wouldn’t follow her anywhere.
An unspoken promise, but he thinks she knows.
James gives her a boost and watches as she makes easy work, climbing higher and higher.
She's fearless and formidable, and he's falling.
“Shit.”
He tries to find her through the boughs and branches.
“All right down there?”
Her teasing tone tickles him, his stomach clenches, his heart thunders in his chest.
He doesn’t offer a response, her attention gives him momentum, an urgency to catch sight of the smile he has no doubt spreads wide on her face.
The branch bends under his weight, shaking loose some of its treasure as he works his way to her.
Close to the trunk two-thirds of the way up her leg hangs over the ledge of the largest bough.
“Thought you were going to bail out.”
“You know me, Evans, I’m no quitter.”
She offers him her hand, to steady him as he gets seated.
Her fingers are cool to touch and send a rush of excitement straight through him.
The sun slides between gaps in the leaves, painting them in dappled light, a beauty in nature no magic can compare with.
"Here—”
She picks a small bunch of fruit, splitting the stem so they each have a few.
His eyes trace the contours of her face, the edge of her jaw, the slope of her nose, the delicate pout of her lips. He watches as her lips part, and her head tips back slightly.
She releases a small, satisfied noise and it’s dizzying.
"Gods, you're pretty”.
Her laughter sings in the air, pleased with herself, pleased with him, he thinks.
Sweet and delicious, he delights in the same taste of summer, recording this moment to memory.
Unsure how she managed with grace, he leans off to the side and lets the small stone fall from his mouth.
Distracted, she’s closer when he rights himself, her cool hand reaches out, her thumb catching an errant drip of cherry juice. As if that weren’t enough, she pops the tip of said thumb between her lips and sucks.
Drowsy with affection.
It’s his turn to move, closing the distance between them, the trunk to her back, all his years on a broom preparing him to stay balanced and sure.
“Go on then—”
Always teasing.
His smile presses against hers, his hand works its way to her hair and when she sighs… when she sighs…
He’s not falling, he’s fallen.
“James and Lily, up a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”