A/N: So this has been on my computer for months just waiting to be edited. I got bored in class and finally managed to get it together. It takes place sometime between the 1920's and 30's in a very small Louisiana town. I don't really have much more that could be added to it but I'll add more if y'all want me to. Just tell me what you'd like to happen and I'll see what I can do.

"I am Fitgzgerald Grant, the Fire King!" The crowd stared at me like I was the devil reincarnate. Probably because to them, faithful sheep of the church that sat high on the hill like God on his throne, I was. I grinned at them menacingly, playing up the mood. Candles made me glow like I was aflame on the inside. I held the flaming coal in my right hand, and waved it around for them to see that it was no illusion. I was holding fire and seemingly unbothered. In reality, my hand was covered in Storaxine, a flame-proof chemical I brewed myself so I really didn't feel the burn, but they hadn't paid money to know that.

"Can you believe it?" I asked, looking from face to face. The tent's back flap opened and a girl scurried in. I nearly dropped the coal at the sight of her wide brown eyes as she stared at me in wonder. I smiled wider and raised my other hand to beckon her. "Come! Come closer!"

She looked at me like I was crazy but slowly moved toward me. The ruffled skirt of her mint green sundress fluttered as she walked down the aisle to the center ring where I stood. She seemed terrified to get close to me. I softened my smile. "Come here sweetheart."

Her eyes like saucers, she took a few small steps toward me. Her sandals were white, her toenails painted bubblegum pink. She got close to the flaming coal I held out to her but didn't get too close. I held it a bit closer. "Wave your hand over it. Is it hot?"

She lifted her little hand, her fingernails also painted pink, and waved it over the coal. I saw her realization of the coal's heat wash over her face. She looked up at me and nodded. She looked down at the stone then back at me again. I grinned. "Is it hot?"

"Yes," she half-whispered. I turned back to the crowd. They looked at me in disbelief. I slammed my other hand, also covered in Storaxine, and extinguished the flame. The crowd erupted in applause. I smiled at them as I took a bow. When I stood upright, she was still there, staring at me.

I smiled at her then looked at the crowd. "A round of applause for my lovely assistant!"

They applauded her and she blushed like a schoolgirl, which I assumed she was, then scurried away. I watched leave, wondering who she was and where she had come from. She didn't seem to be with any of the colored families gathered. I assumed there were more people who hadn't come to the show, it being held in the backwoods of the tiny Louisiana parish that was seemingly home to only colored people, but that raised more questions about where she'd come from. I wondered if I would see her again. I was going to follow her, but already the crowd was exiting my tent and the little green dress was lost in a sea of people.

Because it was my last show, I packed up my things and went to the tent where I slept. I was hungry and thought of going into the little town to get food, if only for the chance to run across the girl again, but decided against it. If she was meant to be mine, she would reappear again. I settled for popcorn and watery lemonade for dinner then went back to my tent to get ready for bed.

XXXXX

"What's that?" she asked, lured into my tent by the candle's light twinkling on my large mirror. I turned, my hands at my neck to remove my cape, and there she stood. She seemed even prettier than I remembered, her cinnamon-colored skin alight in the dim glow of my tent. I could see the lacy strap of her white brassiere peeking from beneath the wide strap of her dress.

"It's a mirror," I answered, watching her step into the tent then move to stand before the mirror.

She shook her head, still looking at herself. "No; mirrors are small things you can hold in one hand."

"Well, I have a bigger one," I answered. I used her hand to adjust the frame, the warmth of her arm on mine. It was the first time I had been close enough to smell her. She wore no perfume, smelling of baby powder and soap. She tilted her head, examined the smooth curve of her jaw, the wave of her inky-black hair, her small ear. My red performance cape glowed against her complexion, the soft green of her cotton dress. She gathered her curls away from her face and allowed ithemt to fall against her back, leaving her face open. It was then that I knew she was just like every other girl. They all had a secret wish and once I discovered it, they were mine. "What's your name?"

"Olivia," she answered, her eyes finally flickering away from her reflection to mine. She volunteered, "My father's the preacher here."

"Oh?" I smiled at her, stepping closer and gathering her hair away from her neck to run my fingers through it. It smelled like honey.

"Yes." She pulled her bra strap out of sight.

"Do you want to see a magic trick?" I asked, smiling at her reflection in the mirror as toward the mirror to examine herself more closely.

"My father says magic is devil's play," she answered though her eyes were curious.

I didn't reply because I was already preparing to perform. I covered my palms in Storaxine then retrieved a coal from my trunk.

"Wait!" I looked up at her and smirked when she walked over to me. She smiled like the cat who'd gotten the cream. "The coal is rigged. That's how it burns and you don't get hurt."

I smiled at her. "No it isn't. It's regular coal for regular fires. I have a lot. You're welcome to pick the piece yourself."

She looked at me critically, as if she was gauging whether or not I was lying, then bent to retrieve a coal from the trunk. Unfortunately her dress was too long for me to peek underneath it. I wouldn't normally have looked but I couldn't decipher her age. She had a woman's face, and breasts and hips, but she was most certainly wearing a child's dress. I wondered if she was just one of those girls who matured early and if I was subsequently lusting after a child. She couldn't have been too young, as she was out roaming alone, but in such a small town this behavior might have been commonplace.

"How old are you?" I blurted as she rummaged in the trunk, apparently picking up each piece of coal to examine it for some indication of the magic behind my trick.

"Sixteen," she replied, finally standing upright with a lump of coal clutched in her little fist.

"Why are you dressed like a child?" I looked away from her backside.

"I'm not." She looked down at her dress insecurely, tugging at its ruffled hem and I feared I had hurt her feelings. She looked back up at me with glassy eyes. "I just have to wear what the ladies at the church make for me cause I don't have a mother."

"What happened to her?" I softened my voice and eyes to apologize for criticizing her clothes.

"She died a few days after I was born." She looked so little and broken. I wanted to hold her and kiss the sadness off her plump lips.

"I'm sorry…for your mother and saying what I said about your dress. It's very pretty. You're very pretty too." She gave a shy smile. I had never heard myself ramble so poorly with a woman. Normally I was nothing short of silver-tongued, but she was different. Why, I didn't know. But she was.

I took the coal from her hand and lit it on fire then presented it to her. She stared, her eyes wide. I could tell she had been trying to figure out the trick since she first saw it and come up with nothing. She looked at my calm expression then furrowed her eyebrows as she watched the flames leap on the burning coal. She held her hand close to the coal and felt the heat. I smirked as I placed my other hand atop the coal, extinguishing the flames. I put the coal back in my trunk then cleaned my hands and sat on my cot. I was surprised when she sat next to me, close enough her hip to brush mine. She frowned at me.

"What's the matter little bird?" I asked.

"I don't understand your magic," she huffed. I reached around her head and removed the pink bow holding half of it up. It fell around her face in waves of ebony. I ran my fingers through it, rubbing her scalp. She purred like a kitten. It was the most exhilarating sound I'd ever heard. Her eyes closed as I used my fingers' entanglement in her hair to pull her head back.

I kissed the hollow of her throat and she gasped, enjoying my closeness. I normally wasn't so intimate with girls but I wanted to be with her, to be close, to make her mine and keep her. I kissed her lips repeatedly, softly, until she responded. She opened her mouth when I licked her lips and I slipped my tongue inside, wrapping it around her own. She pushed against me, holding onto my shoulders, trying to be closer and I pulled her as close as I could. She rubbed her nose against mine. It was strange and pleasant. She smelled like honey soap and baby powder. She gasped when I kissed the lamb soft skin below her earlobe and stiffened at the new sensation as though she might make me stop. Out of instinct, the promises began pouring out of my mouth like verbal diarrhea. Only this time I meant them. That single thought made me do the impossible. I stopped kissing her. Her eyes fluttered open and she stared at me, wide-eyed. She seemed all at once to remember who she was and who I was and where we were. She jumped off my cot as if it were on fire.

"You're the devil," she declared, her voice low and clear. In a whip of curls, she was gone, running across the field to the little white church that sat atop the hill looking down at the valley where we camped. I knew she would come back. The flames had crawled inside her soul and set her ablaze.

II

I nearly fainted upon entering my tent and finding her there. She lay on my cot, adorably asleep, snoring ever so softly. Her ringlets fanned out around her face, one arm curved over the top of her head, one wrapped around her waist. The pleats on her navy blue dress were perfect, her white knee socks pristine. Her Mary Janes new and soft and shiny, her feet crossed at the ankle like a perfect little lady. The hand of the arm draped over her stomach clutched a book. I took a tentative step forward, squinted at the book's title: "The Great Gatsby." I didn't know the book but guessed that it was romantic and wholesome if she was reading it. I took another step forward and she stirred. I froze, terrified to move or even breathe. She shifted, turned her face away from me, uncrossed her legs, her knees still touching. I thought about peeking under her dress, curious about what kind of underwear a preacher's daughter wore, but decided against it. It wouldn't be right. She was too sweet a girl for that sort of thing.

Besides, I reasoned, whatever she wore probably wasn't anything particularly elaborate. Cotton in pastels with lace or ruffles, maybe polka dots or stripes. No red or black or silk or satin. No garters or sheer panels to entice the imagination. Still, she was just as sexy as any worldly woman to me. Not because she did anything particularly sexy, not even because she was beautiful. She was pristine, perfect, a darling little angel. I wanted her because having her was heaven on earth. I wanted to kiss her rosy lips and flushed cheeks, her delicate collarbone, her slender fingers, her thin neck. I longed for her soft breasts, her slender thighs, the valley of soft ebony curls between them. I shook my head, pushed away the thoughts as I took another step forward. I crept to the bed, sat next to her so gently I didn't even make an indentation on the bed.

She wore no perfume, smelling instead of honey soap and baby powder. It wasn't sexy, actually quite the opposite, childish really, but it intoxicated me nonetheless. I looked over at her, thought of kissing her little mouth to wake her. I decided against it, figuring I would frighten her if she awoke with my lips on hers. Instead, I leaned over and whispered her name. She didn't stir. I said it a little louder, in a soothing sing-song tone.

"Wake up, Livvie," I repeated until she finally stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open and she blinked for a moment, as if she couldn't remember where she was. She sat up and looked at me, her face turning red from her neck to her hairline. She scooted away from me, looked away, didn't say anything.

I smiled at her sleepy embarrassment. "Where did you wander in from little bird?"

"I came to see you," she replied, her voice soft, her face still turned away from me. I scooted a little closer, placed my fingertips under her chin, turned her face toward mine.

"What do you want to see me for?" I asked, curious. I hoped she wanted more kisses. I certainly did.

"I want to know how your magic works," she answered, her eyes wide and innocent. "How do you hold the fire and not get burned?"

I grinned, answered, "That's a secret, little girl."

She blinked at me, not sure what to say. I gathered she wasn't used to not getting her way. She crossed her ankles again, swung her short legs, her feet dangling. She tucked a curl behind her ear, looked at me like I had taken candy from her. Slightly poking out her bottom lip, she half-whined, "Please."

I wanted to show her. I did. But showing her meant more than I wanted it to. I had learned from my mentor that a fire king only shared the secrets with the one, the girl that he kept forever, the one who got as close to his heart as the flames did. She was close, but I wasn't sure she was the one. I hadn't had enough time with her yet. She slid off the bed and began to walk around the tent, examining my performance cape then the stickers on my trunk. I collected the stickers from each city I visited. She ran her hands over them then moved on to my work table. She looked at my papers, picking them up and examining each one then put them down in a neat pile. She picked up the one book I always kept with me, Catcher in the Rye, and flipped through its pages, read the back cover.

She looked up at me and asked, "Is this your favorite book?"

"Yes," I answered. "What's your favorite book?"

She walked back to the bed, picked up The Great Gatsby. "It's a tie between this one and Tender is the Night. I love everything F. Scott Fitzgerald writes."

"Is that right?" I asked, watching her wander around the room. There was a delightful grace to the way she moved, like a ballerina. She came back around to the trunk and knelt, examining the lock.

She looked up at me, and asked, "What's in here?"

"My things," I answered.

She looked up, clearly curious. "What kind of things?"

"My valuables," I answered. I was being purposefully short, wanting her to do most of the talking.

"What kind of valuables?" she asked, fiddling with the gold padlock. "Like pictures of your wife?"

"I don't have a wife," I answered. "It's full of things I don't want people to see."

"Can I see?" she asked, staring at me, her eyes wide and doe-like.

"No," I replied. She blinked at me and I smirked at her. She continued to examine the lock. There was nothing she could do with it. I had the key around my neck. She began examining the stickers again and I wondered what she was thinking. She waited a few minutes the looked up me.

"If I give you something, will you let me look in the trunk?" she asked. She smiled at me, just a little. She was a delightful little tease. I wondered where she'd learned to bat her eyelashes and smile coyly to get what she wanted. I doubted those were the kind of lessons she learned in Sunday school. I guessed flirtation was an innate quality of femininity. Oh, Lolita, I thought.

I smirked at her, hoping it was more kisses. She'd tasted like lemonade and funnel cake. "What are you going to give me?"

She walked back to the bed and retrieved a little pink purse I hadn't noticed before. She opened it and pulled out a picture and handed it to me. It was of her, standing on a swing hanging from a tree. Her hair hung over her right shoulder in a thick braid. Her dress was white and nearly sheer, glowing in the sunlight behind her. She gave the camera a Mona Lisa smile, her eyes half-lidded. It was the most beautiful picture I had ever seen of anyone. She smiled a crooked, silly smile said, "You can have this and tell people I'm your girlfriend."

I smirked at her. She was so cute. I took the picture and put it in my shirt pocket. "Okay, I'll let you look. But you have to keep whatever you see a secret. Can you keep a secret, little bird?"

She smiled like a giddy child and nodded as I got up and removed the key from my neck then knelt next to her to unlock the trunk. I opened it and she immediately began digging through my things, pulling my clothes out and setting them aside to have a look at my books and mementos. She pulled out the bag in which I kept all my memories of my original home, the place I had run away from twenty years before. She sat Indian style and emptied the bag's contents on her skirt. There was a picture of my mother, taken by my father, leaning against a post that held up the roof over the front porch. There was a small bulge under her dress (me, unborn). She looked at it for a moment then put it aside and picked up the key to the old house that I hadn't been back to since I left.

"What's this for? Is it the key to your heart?" She wore a small, silly smile.

I smiled back and answered, "If it was, I wouldn't even let you hold it."

She grinned. Little nymph. "Yes you would. The only reason you didn't kick me out is because you like me."

"I didn't kick you out because I'm not rude," I teased.

She shrugged and held the key up again. "What's the key for?"

"My house," I answered.

"Where's your house?" she asked, watching me with her wide eyes.

"A long way away," I answered.

"Like California?" she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"No. It's in Nebraska," I answered.

"Why'd you leave?"

I shrugged. There was no concrete answer more than I hadn't wanted to stay any longer. I finally said, "Sometimes you just wake up and know it's time to move on."

"Oh," she replied, clearly not grasping the concept fully. She went back into the trunk and pulled out my beaten Bible. She held onto it, staring at the nearly blank cover, the gold leaf that once read HOLY BIBLE now nearly invisible. She looked up at me and asked, "You read the Bible?"

"You assumed I didn't?" I asked. Her father was no doubt at work with that particular assumption.

She nodded and replied, "My father says magic is the devil's work."

"Are miracles not magic?" I asked.

"Well yes..." she answered uncertainly. "But Jesus performed miracles."

"And endowed his disciples with the ability. But that is neither here nor there with the current situation. What I do is not a miracle nor is it magic. It's an illusion for entertainment. Your father should stop using his religion to complicate everything that happens."

She was quiet for a long moment. I was afraid I had offended her. She suddenly looked up at me, her eyes wide and shiny with wonder, and asked, "Do you dance?"

"Not if I don't have to," I answered, wondering what my statement and her response had to do with each other. I would certainly have danced for her, or done anything else she asked. "Why do you ask?"

"I like to dance but my father says dancing is of the devil," she said. "But the Bible doesn't say you can't dance, not in one verse. And he still thinks it's bad."

"What do you think?" I asked, leaning forward, placing my face a foot from hers.

"That he worships the church but not the Lord," she answered. It was the most astute synopsis of my issues with religion I had ever heard. And it was falling out of the little mouth of Alice in Wonderland.

"Out of the mouths of babes the truth shall flow," I replied. She knitted her eyebrows together and frowned at me.

"I'm not a baby," she argued. She stood, placing her little hands on her thin hips and smirked at me. "You're old."

"I am. I'm nearly 30," I acquiesced. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"That you're old, and if I'm a baby then you like little girls and I don't have to take condescension from a pervert."

I laughed. Laughed until my stomach hurt and my eyes were wet. She was something else. A little firecracker. Little girls were made of sugar and spice, indeed. She seemed to take exception to my laughing at first then lost it and laughed a little herself. I finally gained control of myself, wiped my eyes, and grinned at her, "You're funny."

"Most times I'm just being honest and people decide to laugh," she admitted, sitting on the bed next to me. She crossed her legs and leaned toward me, that little flirtatious smile back on her face. "Will you tell me how your magic works?"

"No," I answered. She sighed in disgust then threw herself back on the bed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I'm not your friend anymore," she declared in her haughty little voice.

"I didn't know we were friends to begin with." I was enjoying myself, plucking her strings.

She smirked at me. "I don't like you."

"Are you sure?" I asked, my fingertips grazing the soft valley of her flat stomach. I leaned down and planted a kiss on her lips.

She sat up and looked at me sweetly. "Will you please tell me how the magic works?"

I smiled at her. "I suppose I could. But I won't since you don't like me."

She got up with a huff and stormed to the door. "I won't be back."

"Goodbye," I called as she slapped the tent's flap open and stalked out into the evening. I got up and went to watch her storming over the hill between the valley where my tent was and the little green house between the little white church where she lived with her father.

She would be back. She had to come back. She was too curious and stubborn to let herself remain ignorant to my magic's secrets. She thought that once she knew how the tricks worked, she would know how I worked but it was quite the opposite actually. Once I showed her the tricks, she would be mine forever.

XXXXX

The next day I found her sitting on my cot when I returned from doing a show. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, another book in her little hands. I squinted at the title: The Beautiful and the Damned. She looked up at the sound of me entering the tent, her expression unreadable. I smirked at her. "I thought you wouldn't be back."

"I just want to see how your magic works," she answered. She wore a yellow chiffon boat neck dress, littered with red and purple tulips and a brown belt at the waist, and her yellow sandals. Her hair was loose around her face and I could swear there was a trace of lipstick on her pretty little mouth. God help me.

I showed her how a few tricks worked-the answers to the illusions were nothing special-but she was amazed nonetheless. I finally showed her the mason jar of Storaxine and explained how it worked. She took it and opened it. The strong smell made her jerk her face away. I smiled at her. "This stuff smells like moonshine."

I smirked. "What do you know about moonshine, little girl?"

"Ms. Pauletta, the lady who does my hair, drinks it. It burns like hellfire going down and even worse coming back up." I laughed as she put the jar in my trunk. She knelt and pulled her picture out. She looked back at me. "What are you gonna do with this?"

"Keep it," I replied. I had a feeling I would spend the rest of my life looking at that picture. She was the kind of girl God gave you when you weren't in any position to keep her so you could spend the rest of your life knowing loss. She sat on my cot, looking at me just so. I sat next to her. She moved to sit on my knee. She ran her fingers through my hair then down over my stubbly cheeks. I inhaled sharply when one hand slipped into my lap, her little fingers curiously brushing over the bulge in my pants. She never grabbed hold of it like I expected her to, just ran her fingers curiously over the length, her eyes widened as I hardened under her touch. I finally undid my pants for fear that I would hurt myself if I didn't take my zipper out of the equation and she watched with rapt eyes as I pulled my engorged length out of the flap of my boxers.

"It's so big," she whispered more to herself than me. I wondered if I was the first man she'd ever seen. She reached out and took hold of me. I couldn't tear my eyes away from her face. She ran her fingers over the pulsing veins curiously. I was going out of my mind. It was too much and not enough all at once. I had to stop her before things went too far. I placed my hand on top of hers to still her movements. She blushed crimson. I took her hand away and pulled her face close enough to kiss her.

She pulled my bottom lip between her teeth and my hand went to her breast unconsciously. She didn't stop me, instead pushing her chest out give me better access. She stiffened when my hand slipped under her dress. I was merely experimenting, seeing how far she would let me take things. She didn't part her knees until my fingers brushed the lace front of her panties. I rubbed her through the thin cotton and she gasped, her thighs snapping shut on my hand. She meant to stop me but had unwittingly trapped my fingers against her. I made slow, gentle circles that made her thighs fall apart. She clutched fistfuls of my shirt, chewing my lip like bubblegum. It might have hurt if it wasn't so arousing. She went rigid when I moved her panties aside and I stopped. I had found her limit. I removed my hand and she released my lip. Her eyes were wide with something like desperation in them. I peppered kisses from her lips to the valley of her collar bone. She slowly let go of my shirt.

"Go home Livvie," I murmured before planting a kiss below her earlobe. She only nodded then stood on unsteady legs. I watched her fix her dress then run her hands through her hair. I stood and fixed my pants.

"Bye," she said softly, even as she stepped closer to me.

I smiled down at her. "You don't follow directions."

"Can I have one more kiss before I leave?" She batted her eyelashes at me. I leaned down and pressed my lips to hers. She stood on her toes, pushing her tongue into my mouth. I bit it and she jerked away, laughing beautifully. "That wasn't nice."

"I thought I told you to go home." I smiled at her and playfully shooed her to the tent's doorway. I kissed her bottom lip, quickly pulling away before she could entice me into another kiss because then I'd never let her leave. Already I was dangerously close to dragging her back into my lap and soothing away her maidenly protests with drugging kisses. She needed to leave for the sake of her innocence and my soul. "Goodnight little bird."

"Goodnight," she replied. Then she was off, walking up the hill to get to her house. I wondered if her father knew where she was and guessed that he didn't if the rumblings in town about how he detested my show were true. I smiled. I had lured away the most valuable sheep from his flock and he was none the wiser.

III

How she convinced me to set foot in a church-especially her father's church-was a mystery I never solved. The only reasonable explanation is that I would do anything to keep her happy. She arrived at my tent on Sunday morning, dressed in a pink sundress with a scalloped hem and neckline and white pumps. Her white gloves were pristine. I salivated at the sight of her delicate collar bone. She wore pink lipstick, almost the same color as her tongue. God help me. I wore a black suit, even a tie. All for her.

"You look handsome," she said as she reached out and stroked my clean shaven face. I had even tamed my hair for the occasion. I almost didn't recognize myself. I looked so civilized. Not at all like The Fire King.

"At least for now," I replied. "We'll see how nice I look after I burst into flames. Sinners have the tendency to do that, you know."

She laughed her sweet laugh, traced my smile with her fingertip. "But you're going to church. That's a start."

"A start? I'm afraid He'll see it as a challenge." I smiled at her and pulled her into my arms, surprising her. I kissed her hungrily, couldn't help myself. When I let her go, she was bright red with blush, from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. She cleared her throat, straightened her dress.

"We should go," she squeaked.

"Yes ma'am," I answered. We left my tent, crossed the valley to the tiny white church that sat atop the hill overlooking my tent. It was almost full to bursting. She moved toward the front but I convinced her that it wasn't the best idea to sit up front. The choir sang "Amazing Grace" and people erupted from their seats, sobbing and praising God. It was strange, the effect the song had on them. I watched, very interested and Olivia sat, humming to the music, seemingly oblivious to the spectacle around her. The song ended and the preacher, Reverend Eli Pope, stood, fixing the congregation with a powerful gaze.

"Children of God, the Lord's grace is indeed amazing," he said, his voice booming. "So amazing that it reigns on the just and the unjust."

The crowd erupted with shouts of "Amen" and "Hallelujah." I didn't understand what was going on. I sat and observed, trying to figure out the science to it. What made them react to his statements of general truth? What made them listen to HIM in particular? Who was he to wax wise on truths that were self-evident? I didn't know what it was that appealed to them about the setup but I wasn't buying it. The service wasn't particularly long, lasting about an hour and a half before he seemed to be finished. He began calling for lost souls, asking who among them wanted to be saved, and I grasped it when they began to stand-first one then another then another. They all identified themselves as lost. They were looking for comfort, acceptance, fellowship, and most of all the feeling that they had found the place they belonged. They didn't want to be alone.

XXXXX

Later, when I was getting ready for bed, Olivia appeared in my tent. She was holding two suitcases, one round and one rectangular. She put them beside my trunk and sat on my cot without a word. I understood that she intended to come with me when I left the following morning. I lay down on the cot next to the wall and she removed her shoes then turned so that she was facing me.

"Do you believe in God?" she asked. It wasn't the question I was expecting if anything.

"Yes," I answered honestly. I believed in God but didn't like religion. Something about it just didn't fit me. It tore apart friendships and nations over technicalities. I didn't agree with that. So I stayed away. Funny how I was in love with a preacher's daughter.

"How come you don't go to church?" It was such a childish question. Not the question itself but the way she phrased it and the wondrously innocent lilt that her voice took on when she asked about something that had been a part of her life since before she was born. It was clear that my not doing something that seemed so vital to her clearly didn't make any sense to the girl.

"I just don't," I replied. "It's just not my thing."

"Didn't you go to church growing up?" she asked.

"Sometimes," I answered. I reached over her shoulder, began undoing buttons down the back of her dress, watching her face to see how she would respond. She stiffened a little then relaxed, didn't tell me to stop. The buttons ended at the small of her back and I pulled the left side away from the right, revealing her skin to the cool air. I ran my index finger up and down her spine and she shivered. She was strangely silent. I pulled her close and kissed her. I didn't intend to take her virginity that night but she was apparently willing to do whatever I wanted. She sat up and I pulled her dress down, revealing her white silk slip. When I pulled the straps of the slip down, I found her bra was just as pristinely white.

"Is all your underwear white?" I asked. I knew women who wore red and black exclusively, and Olivia's color preference sparked curiosity.

"No," she answered. "Most are pink and yellow, and I have powder blue and lavender, and some mint green ones."

No red and no black I noticed. There was something to it. "So you only wear pastel underwear?"

"Well I've never had occasion to wear red or black. My father would probably have a stroke before I could wear them if I bought them. He's so..." She stopped talking, seeming to just then remember her father. I assumed he hadn't been home when she'd packed her things. She looked like she might cry for a moment and I was seized by sudden guilt. I shouldn't have kissed her or even showed her any tricks. I should have made her leave, pretended to be everything her father had told her I was so that she could go on being her innocent self. I'd had no business getting wrapped up with her. But I couldn't not get wrapped up with her. That wasn't an option, not after she looked at me with those eyes.

I fixed her clothes, buttoned her dress, then said, "Go home, Olivia."

She got up without a word. She moved like something else was controlling her movements, almost like she was a puppet or a robot. She took her bags and left my tent, never once looking back at me. My throat tightened and burned like I was going to vomit. I had never experienced that feeling, absolute grief. I swallowed hard and lay back on my cot. I had done the right thing and let her go. I was free of everything. I should have been relieved. But I wasn't. Not even a little. I fell asleep at some point and for the first time in a while, I didn't dream. I just floated in half-conscious blackness.

The next morning, I awoke and took my trunk and cot out of the tent before taking the tent apart and folding it up. I loaded everything in the back of my old convertible Cadillac, the only thing I had ever bought outright, and turned to look one last time at the tiny white church on the hill. She stood before me, holding her suitcases. She was wearing a plain red baby doll-style dress, and had woven her hair into a long braid down her back.

"I told him I was leaving," she announced. "He didn't say anything or look at me. I don't think he believed me. I said goodbye and everything but he didn't answer."

"Baby, you're a lover and I'm a runner. We're gonna go around and around forever. I've got a gypsy soul. I was born for leaving. Are you okay with that?"

"There's worse ways to spend the rest of my life. At least this way I get to spend it with you."

I nodded then put her bags in the backseat. When I turned around, she was right behind me, so close that I almost stepped on her white sandaled feet. I pulled her into my arms and she hugged me tightly. I kissed the crown of her head.

There was a curiosity, a desire, a magnetism between women like her and men like me. I was a temptation she couldn't resist and she was the salvation I desperately needed. I wasn't sure how we'd ended up together, why it was that our particular paths crossed, but guessed God had a lot to do with it. It appeared He liked the idea of her and me together.

We got in the car and drove away from the town she'd known all her life. She spent a long while looking out the window from behind her sunglasses. When we passed the parish limits, she scooted close to me and I draped my arm over her shoulders. She lay her head on my shoulder then looked up at me with a smile, that smile.

"Can we go somewhere with a beach?" she asked.

I grinned at her. "We can go anywhere you want little bird."

A/N: Don't forget to leave your thoughts and requests! XOXO