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Rather Kiss You!
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2025-03-30 02:33:16(RORY’S POV)
“Well that is an interesting turn of events. Shocking but interesting, I can’t lie.” I heard Laurel whisper in glee. There seemed to be a moment of silence, with everyone processing what had just been said. And then all eyes turned on me and Todd. I could feel my cheeks go hot from all the attention. My heart was thumping so loudly that one would think that I had been dared to take off my clothes even though for me, it was almost the same thing. Kiss Todd for three whole minutes? I dared to cast a glance at him and my heart beat picked up when I found that he was watching me. “I’m sorry. This is my fault. I made us play this stupid game.” I whispered to him. A small smile tugged at his lips making me ache in my heart. “It’s not your fault, Candy.” He whispered back. “Oh please! It’s a fucking dare! Just kiss already…or better still, Todd O’Connor go naked for us .” Majorie said with her eyebrows wriggling teasingly. The group cheered and laughed while I winced at the idea. “No! Don’t do that.” I said quickly. Todd chuckled, a beautiful sound that anchored me admist the stormy emotions I was feeling. “I don’t want to. I would much rather I kiss you… if you don’t mind, that is.” He said. His words were dreamy and hot. I wanted to pinch myself to be certain that I was not dreaming. Was he really speaking that way to me? Telling me he would much rather kiss me? Okay, snap out of your head Rory! It’s kiss you or go naked, of course he would rather kiss you ! Now say something instead of looking like some dumb struck moron. “I don’t mind.” I breathed out genuinely. Damn, I did not mind kissing Todd at all. I have dreamed of it, imagined it, I have even practiced it on Rosalie’s mannequins. Todd leaned closer to me and cupped my face gently in his hands. It’s either everyone went silent or I drowned in his sea blue eyes and blocked out their noise. Todd’s eyes glanced at my lips and my heart started beating so fast, I worried it would leap out of my chest. I couldn’t help but gulp as my eyes flickered to his lips too. Then he leaned closer and pressed his lips gently to mine. The warm feel of his lips against mine sent me in to a spiral of exhilarating emotions. My whole body responded immediately and it felt like I was floating in the clouds. His lips moved skillfully over mine and bit me gently but sensually sending a chill down my spine and awakening the nerves in my body. I couldn’t help the sigh of content that escaped my lips as I parted way for his tongue to swirl in my mouth. Hearing him moan gently sent a shot of excitement from my head down to my toes. My hands reached up to rest on his neck gently moving to his hair. He shuddered under my hold and I kissed him back finding that it was the easiest thing to do. Somehow my lips knew what to do and so did my tongue as they welcomed his in unison and massaged gently across one another. I felt my body awaken in ways that I never knew it could as the sensitive area between my legs seemed to jolt awake at the embrace. I was tugging his hair gently and enjoying as his hand moved to my waist when a screech interrupted us. “You bitch! It’s three minutes past!” The screech was accompanied by the shocking feeling of cold liquid on my hair dripping down my face. Leslie had obviously had enough.
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The morning after the Spore Release, the frost had deepened into a delicate, crystalline crust that crunched beneath Todd’s boots like broken glass. Silas, the Oregon Engineer, was loading his rusted truck, but his movements were unhurried. He didn't have the frantic energy of the traders Todd used to employ; he moved with the deliberate pace of someone who measured success in seasons rather than seconds. Before closing the tailgate, Silas handed Todd a small, hand-held device—a modified frequency scanner that looked like it had been salvaged from a 1990s radio lab."The mycelium I buried yesterday—it’s not just eating the lead and mercury in your runoff," Silas said, leaning against the salt-pitted fender of his truck. "It’s a transducer. It picks up the subsonic vibrations of the groundwater moving through the bedrock. If you sync this to your Ledger node, you’ll stop seeing the north slope as a drainage problem and start seeing it as a nervous system."Todd took the device, feeling
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The first frost arrived not as a killer, but as a teacher. It silvered the edges of the "Guardian" basil and turned the breath of the sanctuary into rhythmic plumes of white. Todd stood in the center of the greenhouse, no longer looking at his plants as assets to be protected, but as participants in a grand, slow-motion conversation.The Understory ledger on his monitor was no longer a flat list of data points. Since his return from Elara’s grove, it had transformed into a living map of pulses. When he uploaded the blueprint for the "Maine Teacher’s" frost-blanket system—a clever arrangement of recycled thermal mass and reflective mulch—the response was almost instantaneous. Three more nodes in high-altitude zones pinged their arrival, acknowledging the data. But the real shift was physical.A week after his post, a rusted truck rattled up the long-neglected driveway. A man stepped out, his face a roadmap of wind-burn and laughter. He was the "Oregon Engineer" Todd had seen on Elara’s
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The coordinates led them not to a house, but to a birch grove cradled in a high mountain hollow. The trees were ancient, their papery bark peeling like scrolls of forgotten scripture. In their midst stood a low, rambling structure built not of glass and steel, but of stone, reclaimed timber, and living sod. It seemed less constructed than grown.A woman met them at the wood-and-wire gate. She was perhaps sixty, her silver hair braided with dried lavender, her hands etched with the same permanent soil-stains Todd now bore. She introduced herself as Elara. There was no mention of “The Birch.” It was simply understood.“Welcome,” she said, her eyes scanning Todd not with the predatory hunger of the journalist, but with the assessing, gentle scrutiny of a gardener checking a seedling for true leaves. Her gaze lingered on Rory, who hid behind Todd’s leg, then softened. “The little root. Come in. The kettle’s on.”Inside, the air was rich with the scent of baking rye and fermenting honey. T
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The first response to Todd’s failure report didn’t come as a text notification or a legal summons. It arrived forty-eight hours later in the form of a small, unmarked wooden crate left by the front gate, smelling faintly of damp cedar and woodsmoke. Inside, nestled in a bed of dried pine needles, were three glass vials of a milky, translucent liquid and a handwritten note on heavy cardstock: “The blight in your peppers isn’t an enemy; it’s a symptom of a monoculture mindset. Inoculate the root zones. The birch sends its regards.”Todd held one of the vials up to the morning light. After years of dealing in the sterile, binary world of high-frequency trading, where "liquidity" was a metaphor for cash flow, holding actual, biological liquidity felt like holding a live wire.“Who is 'The Birch'?” Rory asked, peering over the edge of the table, his fingers sticky with peach juice.“A node,” Todd said, more to himself than the boy. “A neighbor we haven't met yet.”The transformation of the
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The lawsuit’s withdrawal didn’t bring silence. It brought a different kind of sound. The world, having failed to reclaim Todd through legal force, began to whisper. The story, polished and re-framed, seeped out—not as a tale of corporate defeat, but as a curious footnote in business journals: “The Quant Who Grew Figs.” Eleanor, it seemed, had talked, her silk blouse stained with more than just fruit. The image of the former high-frequency trading phenom, handing out figs in a greenhouse while wearing a sleeping infant, proved strangely compelling to a culture weary of its own abstraction.The first letter arrived on thick, artisanal paper. It was from a lifestyle magazine, requesting a “photo essay.” Then came the email from a tech visionary wanting to discuss “bio-integrated systems.” A documentary filmmaker left a voicemail, her voice hushed with reverence. They all wanted a piece of the parable. They wanted to stand in the humidity, to taste the fig, to briefly borrow the terrifyin
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