The Deal

The Acorn

I am convinced that the devil uses my face as a dartboard.

His aim is impeccable – he hits the bullseye every time.

A dart for my mother's suicide. A dart for my accident and injury. A dart for my father's coma. A dart for the shame and ridicule this town throws at us.

A dart for falling in love with a man whose heart belongs to another.

Against my better judgement, despite the omens and signs pleading with me to keep my heart firm, my resolve proved fruitless and weak when faced with Harry's charm. My carefully strung heart rewired itself.

And when the familiar door swings open to reveal the bright smile digging divots into those sharp cheeks, tousled brown curls, deep sea-green eyes, and a flaring red aura, I can feel that dart between my eyes twisting a little deeper.

Harry's grin steals the air from my lungs and the cute grey jumper and wide-leg trousers he has on makes my heart stutter.

I haven't seen Harry since his birthday bash a few days ago. Since I came to the realization that my feelings for him had rooted themselves deep inside my heart, impossible to dig out. Though he did end up repairing the shop's window, I was conveniently off that day.

I had been afraid that he would see the change in me, afraid that the words would just come bursting from chest. I can feel the eight letters sitting on my tongue now, waiting patiently.

"Nova, finally! What took you so long?" He opens the door and steps aside so I can enter his home.

My cheeks flame at the way his tongue caresses my name and I have to hold my breath for a second because the rich scent of pine and fall –his scent– wafts from inside and assaults my scenes.

Oh my spirits... how will I be able to last all night without betraying my heart?

I've never been so affected by Harry before. I always found him irresistible and alluring, but being near him after my revelation has my senses on overdrive and my desire nearly palpable.

I try my best to appear unaffected, and clear the hoarseness from my throat, "sorry, I was watering my plants."

This is true, of course, I wouldn't lie. Embarrassingly enough, I had been tending to those red roses with frantic care and attention, making sure the petals wouldn't shrivel and die. A fruitless effort, really.

After my epiphany, I spiraled. I tried to grapple with the truth that I'm in love with Harry, tried to pinpoint exactly when I had fallen and decided it was both gradual and inevitable.

What a fool I'd been to believe I could sleep with this compassionate, funny, and gorgeous man for over a year and not develop any feelings for him. What a fool I'd been to not know my own heart.

Once I came to terms with my feelings, I began to indulge them. I envisioned all the times Harry's lips formed my name, the way his soft eyes would appraise me, the way his slender fingers would stroke my freckled skin, the laughter that would rumble from his chest at one of my rituals, the warmth and vibrancy of his aura.

I even grabbed an acorn from my yard, named it Harry, and tossed the acorn into my fireplace.

Considered the luckiest nut in the world based in Norse mythology, acorns can be placed on a windowsill to prevent lightning from striking your house or kept in a pocket to ward off aging. When one names an acorn after a lover and throws the nut into a fire, they will have an answer to the lover's affections. If the acorn pops in the flame their love is untrue, but if the acorn roasts in the fire you can be sure the affection is returned.