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Sweet Tea and Sunshine


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Ophelia Fraye

Just as Ophelia had warned, it was hotter than hell outside.

She loved it.

Being back in Georgia did a little something to her soul, filling her up like a mug full of hot coffee. The heat made her feel alive, and the people made her feel at home. Southerners were a lot of things, but unfriendly wasn’t one of them.

It was Monday, about 9:45 in the morning and already creeping up to 90 degrees. Gray had told her he would arrive at 10am sharp, and she would be right on time. He’d chartered a flight from London all the way to the county airport in St. Simons, Georgia, making her drive very easy. Normally people would fly into Atlanta, but Gray wasn’t just anybody.

As she parked outside the small airport and turned off the ignition, she idly wondered if he’d listened to her when she’d told him to leave his suits at home. She smiled to herself. What she had planned for them had no place for business attire.

She opened the door and jumped the few feet down from her big, black Chevy Silverado, booted feet finding the concrete with a muted thud. She wore a dark, flowy burgundy v-necked tank top with denim shorts and well worn Ariats. Her long, dark hair was pulled up into a messy bun off her neck, and a couple of bobby pins kept strays from her eyes. It was a very different picture than Gray was used to, and she wondered what he’d think of her in her natural habitat, so to speak.

It was hilarious, really. The two of them couldn’t be more different. And yet, here he was. On a plane to the deep south.

The airport was so small that the parking lot was immediately in front of the pickup and drop off lane where people would exit. She was in clear view of the doors, and he would spot her easily.

She jumped up into the bed of her truck and perched her bottom on the side, legs swinging as she idly checked the time on her phone. It wouldn’t take long for him to get through the airport, as he no doubt had already gone through customs when he landed first in Atlanta.

It only took about fifteen minutes, in the end. When she spotted his familiar frame, she grinned and stood up in the truck bed, waving an arm over her head to get his attention.

“Gray Taylor!” She shouted shamelessly before holding her arms out grandly to the sides, as though he’d just walked off the plane into the middle of Paris, France. “Welcome to the South!”

Grinning, she hopped down from the bed of her truck to meet him.

May 29, 2017 09:55 pm

Gray Taylor

He regret his decisions the minute he crossed the barrier between the plane and the ramp. The heat that crept up Gray's neck was something he's rarely experienced on purpose, and for a brief moment he wonders if he has died and gone to hell. It seems only logical, after all. This really must be what it feels like.

His flight had landed four minutes early, allotting himself the time to expedite his experience long enough to stop in a restroom and splash water on his face. He'd be damned if he wasn't a fresh as possible, despite the length of his flights.

Right on time, he steps outside into the blistering heat and choking humidity. Briefly, he considers retreating to the safety of air conditioning, but he hears his name called out, the voice sickly sweet and familiar. Steely eyes shift, finding their mark, and for a moment he stands to look at her.

So. Damned. Gorgeous.

Gray took a lighter response to her promises, she would notice. Lightweight dress pants that are true to his name, and a white shirt that is barely starched, coupled a stubborn pair of dress shoes. Habits die hard, and Gray would be damned. Slung over his shoulder, a large satchel bag holds all else. Jeans. More button downs. Boots. He'd let her have her laugh for now, and then wow her with how well he cleans up for the country later.

The cheeky grin that takes residence on his face as he approaches the perky woman is on the more friendly side, and Gray considers for a moment what to do once he reaches her. At first, the turns as if to go back inside before facing here again and walking purposely to her.

"Look. At. You." Gray quietly exclaims, giving her an exaggerated look over.
June 03, 2017 05:52 pm

Ophelia Fraye

Ophelia waited near her car for him to approach, an amused smile brightening her expression as she took in his outfit.

Well, he’d kind of listened to her. Stubborn man. She was certain he would regret not taking her warning seriously after spending a few minutes outside.

And yet, he did cut a damn fine figure in those fancy clothes.

Look. At. You.

Gray looked her over appreciatively, and it was difficult not to overtly do the same to him. Playing along, she struck a runway-worthy pose, hand on hip, in all that summertime glory.

“So you’re saying the boots didn’t scare you off, then?” She teased lightly. “Not exactly heels and a pantsuit, but I figured you’d adjust. Or run.” Chuckling good naturedly, she turned to unlock the passenger-side door for Gray and gestured jokingly. “Your chariot, sir.”

She walked around the truck and hopped up into the driver’s side, starting the vehicle up with the unmistakable growl of a diesel engine. Melancholy bluegrass music resumed at low volume on the radio, and she rolled down the windows to let the heat out while the AC started up.

Backing the large vehicle expertly out of the parking space, she got them on the road in no time. After some of the usual pleasantries, chatting brightly about how his flight had gone and what sort of other clothing he’d packed, she leveled a brief, mischievous smirk at him.

“You know, I’m not one hundred percent sure what made you finally decide to come down here, but I think you might come to regret it. We’re going to have a lot of fun."

By the wicked grin on her pretty, angular face, it was pretty clear that she, at the very least, would have fun.

June 04, 2017 06:49 pm

Gray Taylor

"Fun? What is your idea of fun?"

Gray is happy. That is what is important. He has his place, sat back in his seat. Once again, the sleeves have been rolled up to rest above his elbow. Bringing a hand up, he thumbs his nose before dropping his hand to his lap again and looking at her. A lazy smirk crosses his features, sizing her up before looking forward again. He can practically see the heat.

"Will you teach me how to shoe a horse? Perhaps milk a cow? Catch wild hogs? Square dance?"

Tongue-in-cheek, Gray lists off every single stereotypical thing he has seen in a movie that has to do with America's deep South. This place is terrifying, but he knows it could be far worse, and that is just the South in general. The truly terrifying factor of this trip is not staying in a hotel room. Gray Taylor loves his fresh sheets, turn-down service, and mini-bar. He is a fan of choose laps in the hotel pool over a trip to the gym. Luxury is what it comes down to, and knowing what to expect.

He has no idea what to expect in her home.
But he knows it includes her, and at the current state she is like gravity itself.

"No... no. We are going to a Nascar race. That must be it. You're certainly driving like we're in one."
June 17, 2017 09:17 am

Ophelia Fraye

Something was different about him today, and she was enjoying it. He was his usual snarky self, of course, but there was also an untroubled freedom to his lazy smirk. It created a warmth within her that had little to do with the Georgian summer. It made her smile, even as his stereotypical jabs made her want to swat at him.

Square dance? What kind of podunk, backwater place do you think this is? We’re not going to square dance. We’re gonna get you up on a horse today, city boy.”

He could probably use the fair warning. Better to warm him up to the idea rather than shock and awe. She didn’t want to run him off too quickly. Still, it was tough to hide the enthusiasm for her plans.

The rest of their drive was fairly short, but increasingly beautiful. Once they passed over the intracoastal bridge to St. Simon’s Island, highway rapidly turned into scenic local backroads lined with blooming magnolias and rustic, well-kept homes. Ophelia made a turn that eventually found the houses becoming further and further apart until they passed through a beautiful wooden ranch gate with the name FRAYE upon the overhanging beam in wrought iron letters.

Just beyond the gate and gravel drive was a modest white two story country home with an attached garage, wrap-around porch, blue plantation shutters, and a matching front door. Adjacent to the house was a small stable and a fairly large field enclosed by a wooden planked fence. Grazing in the field were two sturdy quarter horses; a buckskin and a blue roan.

Ophelia pulled up in front of the house and parked in the gravel driveway, hopping out of the truck shortly after. The air was much cooler here than at the airport. There was a near-constant light breeze due to the proximity to the ocean, and the area was well shaded by large, established trees.

She walked around the vehicle to Gray’s side and gestured toward the house. “Come on in, I’ll show you where you can put your things. Are you hungry?”

June 18, 2017 12:03 am

Gray Taylor

We're gonna get you up on a horse today, city boy.

Gray bites back the sheer horror at the thought of riding, remembering well the few times he'd ever done such thing and knowing each attempt had one thing in common: it didn't go well. It is difficult to deny her, however. She's too happy and eager. Not for the first time, he bites his tongue, and decides to show mock disappointment in a lack of square dancing.

"Damn. And I was really hoping to see your natural habitat..."

The rest of the ride would serve them quietly, save the random quips back and forth to one another. Gray is paying close attention to where they go, working the path into his memory out of habit. When they pull up to the home, he is surprised at the look of it. Mere seconds after she opens her door, he follows suit, landing upon the firm earth on both feet.

He pulls his bag from the bed of the truck, slinging it over his shoulder easily before looking at the young woman. She's in her element, and Gray knows he is in trouble. There is a glow to her, and he can't not admire the way her hair strays from it's entrapment in bits and pieces and brushes her neck in the breeze. Really, the man is finding it difficult to take his eye off of her, period.

He allows her to lead the way, walking just beside her and half a step back.

"Thank you." Straight-faced, he jests, "What's on the menu? Grits?"
June 24, 2017 10:07 am

Ophelia Fraye

“Grits?” Ophelia’s expression soured momentarily. “I wouldn’t feed grits to my worst enemy.” Nasty, slimy things. “I was thinking more like eggs, home fries, and maybe some bacon. I’m starving.”

She led him up the front porch steps and into the house, which was left notably unlocked. The inside of the house was spacious, though rustic and clearly well lived-in. Just in front of them and slightly to the right was a staircase; to their left, a living room with a three-seater couch, a loveseat, and a fireplace with an amalgamation of family photos lining the mantle. Off to the right was a small alcove with what appeared to be a handmade dining table and four chairs set in a room with plenty of natural light.

She shut the door behind them and smiled at Gray. “You’ll be upstairs in the guest bedroom. There’s no room service, but I think you’ll be comfortable anyhow.” A cheeky grin lit her face, and she led him forward, down a hallway to the kitchen. The hall was adorned with even more family photos, including your typical multi-frame mashup of Ophelia’s school pictures from kindergarten all the way to her high school senior photos. She’d had braces.

The kitchen was fairly large, indicative of many a family gathering spent here and on the wraparound porch just through the sliding glass doors on the far wall. Through the windows above the countertop, the horses in the field were visible grazing in the distance. Ophelia directed Gray to just set his bag down on the floor against the wall and bid him to relax while she began gathering things for breakfast. She froze, however, when she heard a door close upstairs.

Footsteps were heard coming down the staircase shortly afterward, and Ophelia suddenly looked as though she could have died right where she stood.

“Is that you makin’ all that noise down there, sugar?” A man’s deep voice called down the hall, and Ophelia’s bright eyes turned to Gray apologetically. She hesitated before responding, wringing the handle of the iron skillet in her hands. “Yeah, I’m in the kitchen!”

Ophelia appeared completely bewildered, though fought to school her expression into a bright smile as a tall, broad man entered the kitchen and eyed first Ophelia, and then Gray.

“Hi daddy!” She greeted the man with a little too much enthusiasm. “Um.. I thought you said you were headed to Louisiana today?”

Her father was a broad, black bearded man with eyes the color of forged steel. Sprinklings of grey speckled his dark hair and beard, and his skin was weathered from years of working under the sun. He had a pleasant, gruff face, and wore an old t-shirt and denim jeans with the legs tucked into worn out boots.

“I am darlin’, but I had to take care of the horses before I left.” He was still watching Gray. “Were we expecting some company today?”

“Yes daddy, I told you I was having a friend over for the weekend. This is Gray Taylor, he’s a good friend of mine..” She trailed off, clearly embarrassed. It was obvious that she’d left out some details of Gray’s visit to her father.

June 24, 2017 02:29 pm

Gray Taylor

"No room service? What sort of business are you running here?"

He follows her into the kitchen, sights naturally drawn to the pictures on the walls. It's easy to spot her through the ages; those emerald eyes are unmistakable. Taking it all in, he follows her instructions in silence, taking it upon himself to begin a hunt for coffee and a mission to bring the counter-top machine to life.

She can cook. He can make the important stuff.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He glances upward before glancing toward a panic-stricken Ophelia, and Gray instantly feels this is about to take one of two different roads. Either she has a secret love affair hiding upstairs, which he doubts, or..

Is that you makin' all that noise down there, sugar?

He looks at her fully, expression blank, but he cracks when she answers him. Choking back a laugh, he turns his head forward and waits it out. Only when he hears the official approach, does Gray turn to face the music.

Hi daddy!

Making eye-contact with the man, Gray holds for as long as he does, and lets Ophelia do the talking. For her sake, he allows her to do the talking... or fibbing, as the case may be.

Without missing a beat, Gray steps forward and up to the man, offering a hand in good faith. "Sir, pleasure to meet you. I apologize for the intrusion." Despite his formalities, it is even more obvious that Gray is beyond amused. "I assure you, my intentions are completely dishonorable."
June 24, 2017 04:27 pm

Ophelia Fraye

Ophelia watched apprehensively as Gray stepped forward to shake her father’s hand. The black bearded man eyed Gray carefully, taking in the relatively formal attire and decidedly non-southern intonations, though took his hand and shook it firmly in greeting.

“Sir, pleasure to meet you. I apologize for the intrusion.”

Good. He was doing well, especially with the usage of ‘sir’.. and then it all just went to sh*t.

“I assure you, my intentions are completely dishonorable.”

Instantly in panic mode, Ophelia’s eyes went wide at Gray’s insolence. Her father’s eyes hardened, and he looked from Gray, to Ophelia, and back.

“Well damn son, I sure as hell hope so. The girl is twenty seven goddamn years old and I still don’t have any grandchildren!” The gruff man broke out into riotous, contagious laughter, a large smile pronouncing the lines in his weathered skin. Still rooted to the spot, Ophelia’s jaw dropped right open. “Daddy!” She scolded hotly, though it didn’t stop him.

He gave Gray a couple of good natured pounds on the back. “I tell you what, all these years and she’s never brought a boy home to meet me. I was startin’ to think she might lean the other way, y’know? That’s fine and all, but she’s sure got some pretty eyes, like her momma, and I’d just love to see some grandbabies with eyes like’at..”

Ophelia looked about like she might just brain her dad with the skillet in her hands.

“Name’s Preston, it’s real nice to meet you. Hey sugar, could you make a pot of coffee? I wanna talk to your boyfriend a minute ‘fore I head out.”

June 24, 2017 05:09 pm

Gray Taylor

Despite the initial response to Gray's crack, he was not the least bit nervous. Considering the situation, he feels he may have just done Ophelia a favor, and really, the man could read a room easily enough to see that her tension needed to be cut. Quickly.

Her father's laughter coaxes his boyish chuckle out from the depths he'd been hiding it in, and he doesn't dare look at the young woman for fear he might laugh too hard.

"It's an honor to make the cut, sir," he comments with the last pound to his back. Sturdy as ever, Gray only rocks the smallest of bits behind the weighted force of the gentleman's hand. He is actually quite proud to be the first of the male species to be brought to the Fraye house.

He listens carefully to the man, a good-natured smile on his face. Finally, the introduction is cemented, and Gray finds himself looking at Ophelia.

Gray isn't sorry in the least, nor is he nervous. And it shows. Instead, he gives her a wink. Gray had already filled the basket with enough for eight cups. Then it dawns on him. Boyfriend.


He lets it stand.

"Let me assure you, sir, that I've never been arrested, have no dependency issues, and am a functioning member of society despite my Yankee upbringing." Glancing toward Ophelia once more, he catches her eye. "And yes, she does have some very pretty eyes."
June 24, 2017 05:45 pm

Ophelia Fraye

Despite Ophelia’s fears, Gray is the furthest thing from ruffled. In fact, he seemed to be deeply enjoying the unexpected encounter with her father. She suspected it had something to do with her obvious embarrassment, and she knew she would never live it down. The great and powerful Ophelia Fraye, scared out of her wits to bring a boy home to dad.

Her father instructed her to make a pot of coffee, and being at such a complete loss as to how to navigate the unfolding situation, she just went ahead and did as she was bid. As she turned to move toward the coffeemaker, she caught Gray’s confident wink.

Somehow, that small gesture managed to put her somewhat at ease. He had it under control. And, she quickly realized, he’d already filled the percolator with enough coffee grounds for all of them and more.

It also didn’t escape her notice that he hadn’t bothered to correct her father on the status of their relationship. To be fair, even if he had, her father wouldn’t have believed it. The situation was incredibly incriminating.

As she waited against the counter for the pot to fill, watching and listening to the two men chat, she asked herself who she was really trying to fool. Her father saw right through her, as he always did. And Gray.. well, nothing had happened. Not really. But there was always an intense, charged undertone to their conversations. He excited her. How long did she really believe they would remain good friends?

“..and yes, she does have very pretty eyes.”

At that moment, she realized she’d been staring at him. She blinked and quickly turned to busy herself with getting the food ready. Her father may have said he only wanted to talk for a minute, but the man was a Chatty Cathy. She might as well make enough for all three of them.

As the minutes rolled quickly by, Ophelia prepared a nice country breakfast for them. She cooked together some eggs, sliced red potatoes, and bacon all in the cast iron skillet, making sure to add a healthy portion of fresh cheddar cheese to keep it all together. Over the top, she sprinkled scallions, and made sure to refill their mugs with hot coffee. By now they had migrated to the small table in the kitchen, as the formal dining area was clearly meant for gatherings nowhere near this casual. She set the skillet down in the middle of the table on a potholder, provided some plates and cutlery, and bid everyone to help themselves.

Her father talked Gray’s ear off about things ranging from Ophelia’s awkward preteen phase, to how he’d met her mother, going into great detail once again how terribly sad he was about the lack of grandchildren, and how he was just so pleased that Ophelia was dating such a nice young man. Ophelia spent much of the breakfast with a flush of embarrassment upon her cheeks while glaring at her father through a barely restrained smile.

The impromptu gathering came to a natural end once everyone’s plates were empty and their bellies were full, prompting her father to be on his way. He hugged Ophelia, shook Gray’s hand, and with a command to not do anything he wouldn’t do, the bearded man was on his way.

Once he’d left the kitchen and they’d heard the front door close, Ophelia met Gray’s eyes with not a small amount of humiliation.

“So… that was my dad.” She played with the napkin in her hands, obviously not having recovered her dignity yet. “I’m really sorry he was sprung on you like that.. But you were great.”

June 24, 2017 07:46 pm

Gray Taylor

Throughout it all, Gray Taylor was very aware of her discomfort and borderline outrage. But he was also very aware of her father's delight at having a visitor. He made it a point to be on his best behavior, though deviating a few times, and made sure that he sang a praise to Ophelia at every given opportunity. There were many.

Finally, it was over. The food was gone, their bellies full. Her father was on his way while leaving them to their weekend, no doubt praying for grandchildren as he left.

So... that was my dad.

"Your father is very proud of you," Gray answers her, leaning forward in his seat toward her. If there is one thing that was highly evident to him during the visit, it is that she is loved, adored, and even worried about. The comments of the lack of grandchildren extended further than what was obvious. He was concerned about the lack of company she kept, no matter the type. "And I enjoyed meeting him."

Standing, he picks up his plate and then piles her's on top, followed by her father's abandoned setting. Gray is fully intent on doing the dishes for her. That's how it worked in his home when he was growing up, and that is how he operates still to this day. It's all about mutual respect.

Placing the dishes next to the sink, he glances back at her before turning the water on and searching out the sponge and soap. Soon, the man is scrubbing through the remnants of breakfast with warm, soap water. The sound is almost calming, at least it is for him.

Glancing out the nearest window, he smirks slightly, chuckling. "You thought he was going to skin me alive."
June 24, 2017 09:12 pm

Ophelia Fraye

“Your father is very proud of you. And I enjoyed meeting him.”

Despite the suddenness of her father being sprung upon Gray, and the intensely humiliating conversations that followed, Ophelia didn’t get the sense that Gray was being sarcastic. He genuinely seemed to have enjoyed himself. A lesser man would have easily been scared off by such talk from a parent.

She smiled at him, sheepish nonetheless. “I’m glad. But I am sorry you were bombarded with all of that. Believe me.” A quick, amused huff of breath left her lips. “He’s always going on about how he’ll never have grandchildren to anyone who will listen.”

Gray had begun to gather up the dirty dishes, for which she was grateful. Her father was very old fashioned, which left her to do the cleaning up most of the time. All the same, she stood and moved to Gray’s side, grabbing a dry dish towel to dry up and put away what he cleaned.

“You thought he was going to skin me alive.”

She could hear the smirk in his tone, and she chuckled quietly. “I was more worried that he was going to scare you off with all that talk of his. The man has no filter. Besides, I wanted the opportunity to do that myself.” She smirked sidelong at him, a mischievous gleam in her bright eyes.

She wiped dry what he handed her and stowed everything away in its proper place; the two of them forming an efficient assembly line. They had everything clean and put away quickly. The complete normality of their task left a small, amused smile upon her face as she went through the motions. Gray Taylor, the dangerous, mysterious ringleader... washing dishes. The thought was so out of place in the context of how she'd known him, and yet the simple, human act put her at ease.

As Ophelia was slipping the last dish into the cupboard, the distant, rolling boom of thunder caught her attention. Her expression soured, and she reached into her pocket for her phone. A few swipes of her fingers, and she cursed hotly.

“Aw, sh*t…” She tsk’d sharply and cut her eyes to Gray, clearly annoyed. “It’s your lucky day, city boy.” She rose her phone so he could easily see the weather app on the screen. It read a 100% chance of rain with severe thunderstorms through the evening.

Once he had a chance to read the forecast, she slipped her phone back into her pocket and crossed her arms. “Guess I should’ve checked the weather before making promises, huh.” She sighed and looked out the window, chewing thoughtfully at her bottom lip. “Well, I ought to get the horses in before holy hell comes raining down on us. You can go ahead and set your things in the guest room if you’d like; it’s upstairs, first room on the left. It’ll take me a bit to get them in, so feel free to make yourself at home.”

She smiled briefly at him despite her irritation and started out the back door to deal with the horses.

June 25, 2017 07:00 pm

Gray Taylor

"Damn. I was really looking forward to living that cowboy life, too," he quips.

He squeezes the sponge over the sink a final time, relieving it of as much moisture as he can before placing it beside the faucet. Gray listens as he dries his hands with the nearest towel, putting it back neatly once satisfied.

"We really need to work on the services rendered here."

And then she smiles. Gray knows it is not due to his smart remarks; He isn't nearly foolish enough for that. Instinct, however, overrides better judgment. As she steps around him, headed toward the door, Gray lets a moment of sincerity seep through his calloused shell. Almost. His hand twitches at his side, part of him wanting to stop her. But his brain stops him.

Instead, he watches her disappear out the door before moving along, internally berating himself behind his mask of calm. In no time, Gray has taken his bag upstairs and found himself in the designated small, clean bedroom. While it is minimalist, surely due to disuse, there are still personal touches that make it feel like home. He sets the bag down by the bed, glancing around before rolling up his sleeves with his usual meticulous care. Only then does he make his return trip down the stairs, taking the time to look over each and every framed photograph that adorns the wall on the way down.

He travels around the first floor quietly and efficiently, doing just the same. It reminds him of his childhood on a grander, more modern scale. There is so much love in this house. Once in the kitchen again, he takes the time to wipe down the table before making his way out onto the porch through the glass sliding door. In no time, he finds a seat in a sturdy rocking chair, watching Ophelia work from his place.

She is beautiful, and Gray Taylor would no longer deny this to himself. ...Or to her.
July 04, 2017 04:15 pm

Ophelia Fraye

For the moment, Ophelia is consumed in the highly hands-on task of stabling the horses for the storm. Though thoughts of Gray lingered in the back of her mind, the horses were alert and skittish with the rolling sounds of thunder in the approaching squall; she couldn’t dwell for long. She caught and bridled the stocky buckskin, Lemon, first. The mare was stabled fairly quickly afterward, and thanks to the reliable work of her father, she didn’t need to refill their feed or water.

The blue roan, however, was much more difficult. They called him Elvis, and true to his name, he was a massive diva. It took Ophelia quite a while to coax him into letting her bridle him, and once she had, he refused to cooperate, locking his legs. Of course, at this point it had begun to rain. Not terribly hard, but enough to make her clothes stick uncomfortably to her body. Ophelia wasn’t new to this nag’s tricks. She ended up swinging a leg up and over his back to ride him bareback to the stable.

Once both horses had been stabled, she made her way back over to the house, nearly soaked through. Her bare legs were flecked with mud from the field and Elvis’ unwashed back, but she had a pleased smile on her flushed face when she came around the corner into view. She spotted Gray on the porch and altered her course to trot up the steps to where he sat, reclined in one of the rocking chairs. She paused at the top of the steps to stomp off some of the mud and bits of grass stuck to her boots before slipping them off and making her way to the unoccupied chair next to Gray.

She sighed in relief when her bottom hit the rocker. “Sorry that took so long. They get worked up when it starts to thunder like this.” She ran her hands down her arms, wicking some of the beads of rain from her skin before reaching up to undo the bun that had gone floppy with the weight of the water. “This storm completely sidelines all the plans I had for us today.” Her Southern tones soured with ire. “We could go in town and catch a movie or something, but we might get caught in it…” She’d worked her thick hair from its restraints and had started to comb out the damp strands with her fingers. “Or we could stay here and wait it out.” She glanced from him to the unobstructed view of the sky in the distance. “It looks like it might get bad… I guess I’ve got some movies here, though. Maybe board games?”

Having tried in vain to straighten herself out, she sighed and let her hair alone, a little deflated. Movies and board games were lame. Quiet for a moment, an amused smile started to lift her expression with a thought. Though it hadn’t been on purpose, she’d managed to effectively trap them both in a potentially compromising situation. She glanced at him, a teasing gleam in her bright eyes. “Strip poker? I know I’ve got a deck of cards around here somewhere…”

July 09, 2017 05:44 pm
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