He pulls away from the kiss.
“You taste… sweet,” he grins.
Sweet? Her mind whirls with all the things she’s ever called sweet in her whole life. Sweet is good, but what kind of sweet? The sweet of honey, or the sweet of candyfloss? Sweet like pancakes in the morning or sweet like ice cream on a hot day? Toffee, caramel, chocolate, strawberries.
“Sweet?” she asks.
“Sweet like victory,” he chuckles, and she doesn’t understand. She can’t understand. Maybe he’ll never tell her what he was going through before he found her. Maybe he will. Either way she won’t know the struggle to wake up in the morning, and to go to sleep at night. The struggle to do simple things like make a cup of coffee or to do the job that brought home money to buy the coffee.
All she’ll know is the man who wakes up smiling, and the man who does everything he needs to do, all for her. For her because she saved him. And she’ll never know just how much. Lighting a spark in him that set him running, fighting against himself to achieve her. And now she’s his. Now he’s kissing her under the yellow-white glow of the streetlamp, and she tastes of all the battles he’s ever won. She tastes of every sunny morning, every day at the beach.
She tastes of sweet, sweet victory.