Sweet Soul (Sweet Home 4)

I stared at this boy, this beautiful boy, and hung on his every word. Levi’s hand fell away from the page and he stepped back from the desk. He appeared embarrassed about what he’d just told me.

Reaching for my pen and paper, I hesitated to write my question, not wanting to appear stupid. As if sensing my concern, Levi tapped the page my pen hovered above and said, “Please, ask whatever you wish.”

Quashing my embarrassment, I wrote, “Who are Hero and Leander?”

As Levi read the question, he smiled and his stormy gray eyes lit up. But he wasn’t laughing; I could see that whatever I asked had sparked something in his heart.

Levi glanced behind him, then moved to the side of the room. He picked up a chair and brought it to the desk, right beside the one in which he’d been sitting when I entered the pool house.

Levi held the chair out and flicked his head for me to sit down. Clutching the pen and paper to my chest, I sat on the soft chair, and Levi slipped onto the chair beside me.

This close I could smell the spice and warmth of his scent, the smell brought me comfort and peace. I sighed in contentment at the stark change—of being here in the warm, safe with this boy—compared to where I had been mere days before.

Levi shifted on his seat, drawing my attention. He sat forward and pulled the book closer to the edge of the desk. My eyes sought the painting on the page, and I waited eagerly for him to speak.

Levi flicked his gaze at me from the corner of his eyes before pointing at the page again.  “Hero and Leander,” he started quietly. I could hear the nerves in his voice, a fact I found only endearing. “They are lovers, found in Greek mythology.” Levi paused, met my eyes, then explained, “That’s what I’m studying in school. Mythology, it’s my major.”

I nodded my head, so bowled over by everything I was discovering about this boy. He was a mystery to me. When I first saw him at the college that day, I assumed he was just another typical jock. All about sport and girls. Given his looks, it was an easy assumption to make. But being in his company for just a few minutes, I could see he was nothing like he appeared on the surface. There was so much more to him than I could have ever imagined.

“Anyway,” he continued, “at the moment, in class, we’re looking at the story of Hero and Leander.”

On my paper, I asked, “What happened to them? This painting looks sad.”

Levi read the page and nodded his head. “It is, sad that is. They are known as the doomed lovers. The story’s a real tragedy.”

My pen hovered over the paper while I debated what to ask. Taking a chance, I asked, “Could you tell me it?”

Levi’s lip hooked into a shy smile and he replied, “Sure.”

I smiled back, and my heart beat faster seeing the hint of red blossom on his olive-skinned cheeks. Nervous under my gaze, he began the tale. “Hero,” he pointed to the drowning woman, “she was a priestess of the goddess Aphrodite, and she lived on the island of Sestos.” He paused and asked, “Do you know who Aphrodite is?”

“Yes,” I wrote, “she’s the goddess of love, right?”

Levi read my response and nodded his head. “Yeah.” Taking a sip of the water on his desk, he put it down and continued. “Hero served Aphrodite, and as such, she had to remain a virgin.” As Levi finished that sentence, the hint of red already on his cheeks burst into a vibrant crimson color and he dipped his head. I hid my smile, more than affected by his obvious shyness than I ever would be if he were brazen. This muscled beautiful boy was as timid as a church mouse.

“When Hero was at a festival on Sestos, a visiting man,” he pointed to the drowning male, “Leander, took one look at her and he fell in love.” I stared at the picture, now wrapped up in their story. Levi had paused, so I looked at him, nodding at him to keep going. Levi dipped his eyes back to the page and continued. “It wasn’t long before Hero fell in love with Leander. But Hero was a priestess, and as such, was forbidden to fall in love or to be with a man.”

I shuffled to the edge of my seat, my heart beating fast with the excitement of the story, but also with trepidation for how it would end. Levi’s hand flicked the page and a map was on the bottom. He pointed at two islands on a sea. With his finger on one island, he explained, “Leander lived here, on Abydos.” He pointed at the other island. “And Hero lived here on Sestos where the festival had been.” The tip of his finger traced the stretch of water between the two islands. “They were separated by Hellespont, a stretch of water.”

Levi stopped, and asked, “Am I boring you? I can stop if all this is too dull. I kinda get carried away and forget most folks don’t care about these stories.”

My hand landed on my chest and I shook my head, no. “Please,” I scribbled down, “I want to know the rest.”

Levi’s eyes flashed with happiness, and he carried on. “Because they were in love, they knew they had to see each other, despite the dangerous trip one of them would have to take. Leander and Hero hatched a plan that Leander, as night fell, would swim across Hellespont to see Hero, so they could be together at night.” My eyes dropped to the picture again, at the rolling waves, and the couple fighting to live. My stomach sank.

“Hero lived in a tall tower, and each night, she would light a lamp and put it in her window, so Leander would know where the shore was—where his love was.” Levi huffed a quiet laugh and pointed at the firefly jar. “Kinda like an old version of that, I suppose.”

I tracked his finger to the jar and excitement burst within me. Finding myself smiling too, I nodded my head and pulled the jar closer imagining it sitting in Hero’s tower.

“That light in Hero’s tower was Leander’s guide to the woman he loved. For nights and nights he travelled that patch of sea and was happy with Hero, as she was with him. Then—”

Levi’s voice faded to silence, and he looked down between us both. When I looked down too, I realized that I had placed my hand on his arm, gripping him tightly, on tenterhooks for the inevitable end of the story.

Embarrassed at my reaction, I went to pull my hand away, when Levi reached out and kept it pressed on his arm. I stilled, eyes wide, heart thundering in rhythm. Levi froze too, but he still didn’t move his hand. I heard his breathing hitch, the simple act of our hands touching bringing us both to an unfamiliar, yet mutually welcoming place.

I waited. I waited, anxious for Levi to speak, only to feel my heart melt when he rasped, “You can leave your hand there,” he swallowed and, without looking into my eyes, he added, “if you want.”

As he expressed the last part, his accent had strengthened, deepened with nerves. I squeezed his arm and left my hand right where it was. Levi’s nostrils flared when I didn’t move my hand away. My heart skipped a beat when his hand didn’t move either.

Tapping a finger from my free hand on the page, I silently urged him to finish the story. Understanding what I wanted, Levi took a deep breath and recounted, “Then one night everything changed for the lovers.” Leaning in, I listened as hard as I could. “Leander set off for his swim, same as he did every night. As he swam, Hero’s lamp shone brightly in her window, guiding him to her shore, when a storm suddenly rolled in on Hellespont.” My hand tightened on Levi’s arm; he kept an equally tight hold of my hand.