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Twisted tangled trees lead directly up to the cliff’s edge. Sun ripened berries are speckled along the scant deer path interwoven with moss and vines.
Morning dew hangs on the jewel-like bobbles. Steve’s fingers twitch in temptation to feel their juice explode on his tongue. The cheery color reminding him of more. Of her.
But she’s not here. Not yet.
And so, he continues. Twigs and debris snap and crunch beneath his bare feet.
At the cliff’s edge, the breeze and its salty sting refresh him. Waves crash below on geometric rocks.
His eyes flutter closed. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
In his heart, he can feel it. She’s here.
“Heya, Soulmate.” She calls, voice sweet as spun sugar.
“Right back at ya, doll.”
He can’t quite see her. That’s the problem with River Dream. The colors of her soul radiating out in her general silhouette is all he can make out. But oh, he knows her anywhere.
Cranberry red, lime green, and mango orange mix and swirl about her in a euphoric dance at his voice.
Her colors are a beautiful foil to his deep blueberry, basil green, and whiskey amber. His heart pounds in his chest despite his lack of physical exertion: she holds such sway over him already.
“We can’t keep meeting like this.” She jests and his heart skips eight beats at once.
“About that. You ever been to New York?”