Strawberries and Cream

Fi Stevens goes to the shops looking like a summer afternoon given human form. In a pretty pale yellow camisole top with lace trim and a denim mini skirt, her rich auburn hair catching the light as she strides through an outdoor shopping area carrying her pink mesh bag, she looks like the most beautiful errand in the world. She picks out fresh strawberries and a carton of double cream with the focused attention of someone who already knows exactly what she is planning to do with them, and it is not making dessert. Back in the kitchen, she lays everything out on the counter and begins to peel off the yellow camisole with a calm, unhurried certainty that is somehow more thrilling than any rush.

By the time the strawberries and cream are open, Fi is bare and utterly unapologetic about it. She pours, she drizzles, she lets the cream slide wherever it wants to go across her pale skin and curves, looking up through those striking blue-grey eyes with an expression that is equal parts playful and devastating. She could not help herself. She never can. And watching her be helpless is the finest thing you will see all day.

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