𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐨, 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟
𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬 😘
Freddie bounced
slightly on her toes after ringing the doorbell. Her purse was slung over her
shoulder, a rolled-up woven blanket under her other arm, and the handles of a picnic
basket clasped in both hands. An eternity, or maybe 30 seconds, later, she was
rewarded with Will Graham’s puzzled face when he opened the door. His dogs
congregated round him; a couple of the smaller ones tried to slip past him to sniff
at her basket.
“What are you
doing here?” Will asked. “More pictures for your personal collection?”
She looked down
at the basket, then up at him. “How’s that prescription working out for ya?”
she sassed. “No, I thought we could have a picnic, in your backyard, so the
dogs can run around. I brought something for them, too.”
Will thought
about it for a minute. 𝘛𝘸𝘰 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴. What was her angle? “Let me see your purse,” he said.
She set down the
basket and slid the quirky, black and white, foldover clutch from some fandom
featured at Hot Topic, off her shoulder. The chains on either side of the black
leather comfort strip jingled pleasantly as the purse changed hands. Will
opened the magnetic flap and pulled it gently over the back so he could rifle
through the contents. No camera. No tape recorder. Well, her cell phone could
be used for both, but it was locked; he’d notice if she went to unlock it to
use as a recording device. She’d only packed her cell phone, wallet, and a tube
of lip gloss. He closed the purse and handed it back to her, then stepped onto
the porch and whistled for the dogs to follow him. He led them and Freddie a
few yards behind the house and motioned for her to set up the picnic. She
unfurled the blanket, one of those colorful Mexican-style ones, and spread it
on the grass, taking time to neaten the corners. When she opened the picnic
basket, she laid out the dogs’ goodies first. Although Freddie was a strict
vegetarian, she had brought filet mignon for Will’s dogs to enjoy. While the
playful pooches were having at it, Freddie set out nice-looking plastic plates.
She served up caprese crostini; wraps made with curried beans and basmati rice;
and nachos with chopped vegetables, guacamole, and shredded cheese. She’d also
brought a light, sweet Chardonnay and sparkling apple cider, to be served in
stemless wine cups. Will rubbed the back of his neck nervously. She’d gone to a
lot of trouble for just a backyard picnic.
“Uh… thanks,” he
said, taking a seat on the blanket’s edge. “It looks good.”
She smiled at
him, carefree, seemingly oblivious to the cogs whirring in his head as he tried
to suss out her motivations. She took a seat beside him and piled a piece of
crostini with a slice each of mozzarella and Roma tomato, as he gave one of the
wraps a try.
“Did you make
all this?” he asked after swallowing a bite.
The setting sun
caught on Freddie’s coppery curls as she nodded, momentarily dazzling him; the
effect was mesmerizing. “Freezer meals aren’t good fare for picnics. I’m no
Michelin-star chef, but even I know when food tastes soulless,” she answered.
It explained nothing, except maybe to give him the notion that she lived on microwaveable
dinners. He’d suspected before that she had a crush on him, or at least, she
acted like she did. When she wasn’t getting tongue-tied seeing him in various
states of undress, she flirted outrageously. But she’d always denied or
deflected it if he brought up the possibility that she could be interested in
him. Maybe she was protecting her heart, or maybe she flirted in a casual way
that some pretty girls just did with decent-looking guys.
He finished his
wrap before asking. “Freddie,” he began cautiously, “this food, at my house,
and you spoiling my dogs… what is this supposed to be?”
Freddie looked
confused; Will couldn’t tell if she was putting it on. She answered, “This is a
picnic, Will. You live with dogs, so I brought food for them. I just thought we
could do something enjoyable for once.”
Defensive, but
Will decided to push the subject anyway. “So this… you didn’t—it’s not a date,
right?”
If she’d been
defensive before, she was downright icy now. Her face cooled into an impassive
mask and her voice flattened. “Of course not. I don’t date.” Terse. Clipped. He’d
offended her. He should back off, but curiosity got the better of him.
“Why not?”
She gave him a
long, searching look.
“It doesn’t go
well when I try. It’s never worked out for me, so I stopped trying. The last
time I tried was… maybe five years ago. It might’ve gone better if I’d
remembered his name.” It was intended as a rueful jest, but fell flat.
She and Will had
𝘮𝘦𝘵 five years
ago. She’d called him crazy to his face twice and he’d levelled at her a death
threat in response. She’d written no shortage of disparaging articles about
him, but he’d had moments wondering if there was more to her obsession with him.
She always dodged his questions about it, but there was one way to find out
that didn’t require saying a word. He took off his glasses with a sigh and
briefly rubbed his temples with his middle finger and thumb. With a concerted
effort, he dragged his eyes to her face. Without any further warning, he cupped
one hand behind her ear and closed the few inches between them with a gentle,
testing kiss. She tensed for a millisecond of surprise before kissing him back
just as gently. She draped her arms over his shoulders, one hand moving to
explore his silky brown hair. The kiss gradually lost its experimental
gentleness. Their tongues met, caressed, and before long he was unbuttoning her
blouse and pulling her on top of him as he leaned back. He peeled off his own
open flannel shirt and white undershirt.
Freddie pulled
back and licked her lips nervously. “This isn’t a no,” she began, “but it 𝘩𝘢𝘴 been a long time, and… outside, surrounded by your dogs, I just…”
She grimaced. “Can we pack up and go inside first, at least?”
Will just barely
stopped himself from blurting out that he thought she didn’t have a sense of
shame. He nodded; she climbed off him and started cleaning up. He marshalled
his dogs and brought them inside, saw to their comfort before going back out to
help her. It gave him some time to think. She didn’t strike him as the type to
move on easily. If they did this, would she become more obsessive? Or would she
lose interest after satisfying her curiosity about what he was like in bed? But
turning her down, especially since he’d initiated this, could be a minefield of
its own.
He felt it then,
a sharp, stabbing pain, slicing through his chest. He flinched from the
intensity of it.
“Hey.” A soft,
slightly shaking voice. A gentle hand on his shoulder. Dewy blue eyes somehow brighter
than before. “Thanks for indulging me, but I think I should go. You can keep
the leftovers—”
His hand gripped
the hand she’d rested on his shoulder. Freddie had let her mask slip when Will had
kissed her, had shown vulnerability he didn’t know she had, and now she was
going to take it back. Before 𝘩𝘦
could reject her.
“Open the wine,”
he ordered her quietly. “I want to have a drink with you.”
Surprise. She
hesitated, but nodded after a moment and did as he said.
A few drinks
later found them cuddled up on his bed together, sitting up with their backs
against the wall. Her head had dropped onto his shoulder and his arm was draped
around her. He was talking lazily about mundane things; she was listening with
a contented smile on her face. When he ran out of things to talk about, he
asked, “Why did you get mad at me when I asked if this was a date? You have to
admit, it kind of is.”
She chuckled and
rubbed her forehead against his shoulder. “Didn’t start out that way,” she
said. “It really was meant to just be a picnic. I know I seem forward—”
“Understatement,”
Will teased.
“I don’t ask
guys out,” she finished. “I want to 𝘣𝘦 asked. If you wanted to, you would have by now. I just thought,
maybe we could be friends, and since I started our feud, I should be the one
extending the olive branch.”
She didn’t
expect his next question:
“Do you want to sleep
with me? If I asked you to, you would say…?”
She groaned and
thumped her heels on the bed. “Why?”
“Because I’m
curious—”
“Why would you
ask? Why would you want to? What’s in it for you?” she clarified.
Will petted her
head lazily. Despite her skepticism, she nuzzled into his touch.
“With the kind of
work we both do, it might be hard to believe, but not everyone always has an
ulterior motive.”
--
// And that’s
all I’ve got so far! This was inspired by a dream I had, which I started typing
out on April 9th. While I did dream more than that, I got distracted
before I could finish writing it all out, and then when I got back to my
journal, it was to write about something else (something unpleasant), and I
just never got back to it. I’ll probably try to write more some other time, I
don’t know.
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