Befriending fierce sprites could not have been an easy undertaking. Mike knew that going in, but it didn't stop his jaw from sagging. Daya rolled from heel to toe, an apple in one hand, dramatically illuminated by the light streaming from the open fridge.
"Mike, we must go shopping!"
He put down the Playstation controller slowly as if he could spook her into taking flight. "Ah... okay. What do you want to buy? A mirror?"
She looked at him like he was mad. Fortunately, he clocked in years of experience in being a misunderstood genius.
"Don't dip that apple in poison, and I'll do my best to assure you that you are the fairest in the land, whenever you want a self-confidence boost." The apple landed next to him—small blessings. He closed his eyes, bit into it and chewed. Hmm, tangy. The fruit's flesh was still firm, but dry. He let it linger in the fridge for far too long, even if it was this year's crop.
"Mike?"
Oh, right... Daya. "I can stretch out for fresher verses to praise your unearthly beauty."
Or, rather, her earthly beauty: calves thick with muscle, arms that didn't hang from the shoulders like wet noodles, hearty complexion, that glossy, alive hair and generous mouth. Everything about Daya spoke of soil and sun more lush than that of the North.
She shut the fridge, and perched on the armrest of the couch, leaving the rest for his cast-encased foot. Peculiarly, she looked smaller up-close than at a distance. Her presence projected well, yet got lost side by side because she possessed an unmistakable source of inner warmth. That positive energy core was strong enough to power a star-ship and draw a wandering eye of a nomad like him.
If he had to play the Truthful Mirror to her Queen, the murder need not have happened. With a braid tossed over one shoulder, the slim nose of the Ancient Greek finesse, well-defined lips, and roman-arch brows curving over eyes more elegantly outlined than a Gothic arch Daya was the fairest one in the land.
She was too pretty to be his type... yet he wondered if he imagined or sensed this extraordinary warmth. He took another bite out of his apple, and re-focused on what she was saying.
"You need food with far more nutrients than chips and cola to heal, let alone keep you from gaining loads of weight while your mobility is impaired. You don't need another twenty pounds around your waist."
She leaned forward, a leg thrown over the other leg, hand tapping the back of the couch, and her eyes devouring his face. Before him stood a woman in search of a project, either too frightened to look to herself for one, or thinking she had no cause. Which one are you, Daya Dhawan, the frightened or the self-righteous?
"My weight goal is 350 pounds," Mike said pleasantly. "A lofty goal, yes, but I'll get there, eventually."
This witticism had earned him scoffs from his mother and polite chuckles from the small-talkers. Sometimes—even a few understanding glances from the fellow-sufferers lugging the weight of the expectations. He just had to lay it on thick to sidetrack her.
"Do you see my hair color? I am a Titian beauty. We are so rare, that I feel compelled to maintain a voluptuous body."
"A... what beauty?" she asked, with a small frown forming between her brows.
This wasn't his usual crowd. "Titian was a Venetian painter who delighted in scrumptious nudes with hair like mine, hence the term Titian beauty. Most would say strawberry-blond, but come on, it's not as bad as strawberry."
Daya's brow quirked upwards. "Nudes?"
No, not his usual crowd at all. Embarrassment colored his cheeks. "Ah, I swear, it sounded funny in my head."
YOU ARE READING
Winners Don't Have Bad Days (Watty 2020 Winner, Romance)
ChickLitWhen a total stranger knows what eats you, maybe they are your one true love. Even if you don't know it yet. || On Friday the 13th, two twenty-something, Daya and Mike, end up in a mutually beneficial arrangement: she is his caregiver after he break...
