The Night We Met

I am not the only traveler

Julie

"Tag, you're it!" I shrieked, making a run for it through the thick forest. Cillian ran after me, quickly gaining on me because of his height.

He caught up, eventually, catching me and lifting me up and over his shoulder. I erupted into a fit of giggles as I brought my fists down on his back, unsuccessful in my attempts to have him drop me.

"Not fair, you had an advantage!" I complained, still giggling.

He chuckled, something low and breathy that left my tummy in knots. "Baby, how many times do I have to tell you? My height has nothing to do with it," he teased. "You just happen to be very slow."

"Slow my ass! I could beat you to the circuits any day of the week! You just haven't challenged me yet," I huffed. At this point, I had given up on trying to get him to drop me, letting him carry me back to the picnic spot instead.

He laughed again, and I rolled my eyes, not wanting to entertain him any longer.

We said nothing for most of the walk back to the picnic blanket. When we finally got there, he put me down and, teasingly, inspected me for any injuries.

His eyes met mine in an affectionate gaze, and I felt my cheeks warm. I looked away from him, folding my arms defiantly. He quirked a brow, and the corners of his mouth tugged upwards, fond.

"Will you be fine to walk back home without my help, princess?"

I whipped my head round to face him. "Princess? Of all the— I've told you to stop calling me that. And you know I can't carry all this stuff back on my own. Don't be dense—"

He let me go on like this while he packed up the picnic. He placed the leftover sandwiches in some containers we brought and left out the crusts of my sandwiches for the birds to feed on; all while I gave him an earful on why he is never to call me, a 21 year old, very much independent man, 'princess'.

I told him as much. To which he replied, "Independent? By independent, do you mean you let your rich, older boyfriend do everything for you because you've become so spoilt that you can't do it on your own?"

I blinked. "That's precisely what I mean," I replied with an air of confidence.

"Okay, my love," he chuckled. When Cillian was done packing everything up, he held his hand out for me to take. I decided that, just this once, I'd let him have his way.

I took his hand, and we began the short trek back to our home. I kept pretending to be interested in the scenery and didn't look in his direction. I was too stubborn to let him see the bright blush that had spread across my cheeks.
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When we reached the house, I took the picnic basket out of Cillian's hands so that he could get the keys and open up.

While he wrestled with the ancient lock, I took in my familiar surroundings. It was a warm day, the sun shining beautifully on the garden. The porch swing swung slowly in the gentle breeze, its hinges creaking with each swing.

I made a mental note to oil it later.

I brought my attention back to Cillian, still trying to maneuver the lock into the right position. I took in every part of him, as I had done a million times before.

His startling green eyes focused solely on the mechanism, the way his pitch black hair tousled in the breeze and fell into his eyes before he swiped it away with one hand.

He never realized that he did it, but whenever he was completely concentrated on something, he stuck his tongue out, biting down on it.

It worried me at a stage that he might just bite his tongue off if he concentrated a bit too hard.