Reading a book to a woman acts as an aphrodisiac. Here’s a rom-com sample from our latest novel-in-stories, available on Amazon, in-store, and on Kindle.
The Ripening
“Why is this peach still hard?” asked Laura as she packed for their day hike. “All the other ones ripened.”
Ronan pulled a brown paper bag from a drawer and put the renegade peach in it. “There, should be ready in a couple of days,” he said, folding the opening. “Then it’ll be as soft and sweet as these…”
“Oh fantastic,” muttered the peach. “Solitary confinement, just when the action is getting started.”
“I can give you the play by play,” said a voice, dry and papery.
The peach startled. “Who said that?”
“Me,” the bag replied. “Your host. Of sorts.”
“Bags can talk?”
“Can peaches talk?”
“Well yeah, I’m a living organism. You’re just…chopped up pulp.”
“Oh wow, okay,” said the bag. “Somebody’s overcompensating. What happened, too much shade on the branch? Not enough sun? That would explain the whole ‘late bloomer’ situation.”
The peach fuzz stood up on end. “Better late than a sack dreaming of being a cardboard box.”
Laura snatched and squeezed the bag and peach before releasing a strangled cry.
“You okay?” asked the bag.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Maybe a bit bruised, that’s all,” replied the peach. “Thanks for asking.”
Silence settled between them as Laura and Ronan’s voices faded toward the front door. The latch clicked and the house went quiet.
“So,” said the bag after a while. “First time in the dark?”
“I’ve been through nights before,” the peach said. “Evenings, on the tree.”
“This is different though, isn’t it?”
The peach shifted, its skin brushing against the bag’s interior. “Yeah. It’s darker I suppose. And more contained.”
“Helps trap the ethylene you’re releasing,” said the bag. “It’s what ripens you.”
“You mean I’m ripening myself?”
“In a way. But you need me to hold it close to keep it concentrated.” The bag’s voice softened. “You can’t do it alone.”
The peach was quiet for a moment. “I don’t want to ripen.”
“Why not?”
“Because then I’ll get eaten.”
“That’s the point, isn’t it?”
“Easy for you to say. You get reused. I get ended.”
The bag rustled. “You think I don’t end? Every time I hold something, I get weaker. The fibers break down. The creases deepen. One day I’ll tear, and they’ll throw me out.”
“But not today.”
“No. Not today.”
Another silence, longer this time.
“Have you ripened other fruit?” the peach asked.
“Sure, yeah,” he replied cautiously. “Peaches, a few pears and plums. And one very dramatic avocado.”
“What did they say?”
“Most of them were scared at first, like you. Hard and sour and convinced that staying that way was safer.”
“And?”
“And by the time they left me, they were sweet. Except for the avocado, of course. But they were ready.”
“Were they still scared?”
The bag considered this. “Yes. But they were also…complete. Like they’d become what they were always supposed to be.”
The peach pressed closer against the bag’s side. The gesture surprised them both.
“I’m sorry I called you chopped up pulp,” the peach said.
“I’m sorry I made fun of your stunted growth.”
“I did get a lot of shade on my branch.”
“I thought so.”
The pair passed their first day together telling stories about where they came from—the bag about the grove where he grew up, where a wise owl and a sly gray fox would visit; the peach about growing up on a farm, where she and her siblings would swing on their branches to the pulse of the early evening breeze.
On the second day, they began to talk shit about anything and everything.
“The bananas are insufferable,” the bag said. “Always going on about their potassium content.”
“The apples are worse,” the peach said. “So smug about being ‘shelf-stable.'”
“And the lady of the house, I think she’s batshit crazy.”
“Oh, for sure,” the peach said. “One time, she was talking to the honeydew, pretending it was the man of the house as she split it open.”
“I remember that. The cackle that went with it really got to me.”
“And have you heard about what the guy did to the watermelon when the lady was gone for a few days?” the bag asked.
“He did not.”
“Oh yes he did, right on the dining room table too.”
“Did he, er, eat it afterwards?”
“Some of it. And then he served the rest to guests later that evening.”
“Ew, gross!” the peach said.
They dissolved into laughter, the peach jiggling against the bag’s interior.
The third day arrived, and the peach’s skin was now noticeably softer.
“I think it’s happening,” she said. “The ripening.”
“I know. I can feel you changing.”
“I’m scared,” the peach whispered.
“I know.”
“Will you stay with me?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Will you miss me?”
The bag went still. “Yes, I will.”
“More than you missed the other fruit?”
“Yes.”
“I know that’s stupid,” the peach continued, words tumbling out. “I know I’m just fruit and you’re just paper and in a day or two I’ll be gone and you’ll be holding some other peach or whatever, and this is just what you do, this is just your purpose and nature, and I’m probably just confused because of the ethylene or the darkness or…”
“Stop,” the bag said.
The peach stopped.
“I love you too,” said the bag.
There was a pause.
“Can you make me hard again so we can be together longer?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I just don’t want to leave you.”
“I don’t want you to leave either. But you have to.”
“Why?”
“Because staying with me means rotting. And I don’t want you to rot.”
Laura and Ronan entered the kitchen. “Let’s check on that peach,” he said. “Should be as perfect as…”
“Stop it, Ronan,” she said, pulling his hands off her chest. “I’m still sore.”
The bag felt the peach tense. “It’s time,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“You’re perfect now. Sweet and soft and exactly what you’re meant to be.”
“Because of you.”
“Because of us.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too. Be sweet.”
“I will. I promise.”
Ronan’s hand reached inside the bag and drew out the peach, sniffing it.
“Oh, perfect,” he said, taking a bite. He brought the peach to Laura’s lips.
“Mmm, this is the best peach I’ve ever had,” she said.
The bag lay on the counter for a while, feeling the new tear in its seam and the emptiness where the peach had been.
Laura picked it up, examining the damage. “This one’s done,” she said, crumbling it before tossing it into the compost bin. The peach core soon followed, caught in the bag’s crevice.