The strawberry was coated in a fine dusting of grit and soil, quite dull. I blinked, and Theo was cleaning off the layer of dirt with her palm, the transformation of the fruit as sudden as my restored vision; for the fruit was blushing furiously and Theo’s face was as flushed as the crimson skin of the fruit she had revealed.
“It’s for you,” she murmured shyly.
I stared at the scarlet between her fingers, then looked around to see if the man with the newspaper was watching, and when I was sure I wouldn’t be seen, I covertly dipped my head and took the sweetness in with my teeth and tongue. Some of the red pulp escaped my lips. I beckoned for her to kiss the corner of my mouth and felt again the close heat swarming around us in the field.