Faun took the umbrella for the walk, even though the rain had stopped and Grant had purchased a dog leash which clipped on neatly to his collar.
They walked without any hurry as King Leopold lead the way, leisurely stopping to sniff the ground at times as they walked down the block, passing the quaint, little houses nearby with their unique individualistic twists to the original architecture of the homes that sat closely to their neighbors.
And as they walked, Fawn tried to keep her mind off of what had just happened between them on the couch—as she wasn’t sure if it had all been her own action that brought it about and fearing it was, she felt embarrassed about her actions. What had come over her to behave in such a way?
But she reined her thoughts from continuing in this direction and made an effort to walk respectfully outside what she thought of as his personal boundaries. She had, for a few moments, berated herself too with thoughts of— how could she take advantage of the poor man when he had just had such a shock and ….then there was that otherworldly ringtone she kept reminding herself about that kept haunting her since the last times it happened. These thoughts caused her to pull her rain jacket around her tightly, and turn up the collar demurely, along with her guilty thoughts of the feeling of that kiss; how it had felt in the heat of the moment ….well, it burned in her memory and swept over her body with its liquifying, residual impression.
She reprimanded herself because she knew she should instead be thinking about all the things that happened when the police and detective had arrived.
But she really didn’t want to think about this either. She didn’t want anything to disturb or rather ruin ….that something ….she had felt which had passed between them with—that kiss. The quick flash of this thought burnt her skin everywhere despite all good intentions…. and, absently, she stole a quick glance at Grant as she thought this…. she wasn’t sure, but when she turned to look at him under the fall of her hair, she thought she had caught him looking at her…. but then he was being pulled away by King Leopold as he had found some favorable spot.
Faun turned away under pretense of respect, which allowed herself a fleeting moment. She touched her full mouth. She could still feel him there. And she wondered how she would ever be able to erase its effect upon her. His. In her own memory, she could not ever remember any other ….who had such an effect. And it was not the first time she had felt it with him. It had happened other times, if she allowed herself to ….recall….but she avoided this thought. It would have brought her to the first time when she had looked into his green eyes which subconsciously had the ability to make her feel she walked in a field of lush grass each time she looked into them; one like rich green-ochre and the other that had shards like the Gulf Stream and could somehow pull her under its bog
She forced herself not to let herself further go there, and made herself focus instead on the adorable little houses that she loved to look at on her local walks of the neighborhood. Tonight all their Halloween lights glowed in the evening, and she marveled at the imaginative residents who were so creative in the displays they achieved. And as they walked, it seemed a wonderland of something magical, as if all of it had been put there just for them. The orange and the Halloween purples, the flying witches on broomsticks, the Nightmare characters, the bats, and Great Pumpkins…. but—then she’d caught the scent of him; it was something in the scent of his hair from what he used; somehow it lingered on her. She realized it was on her fingers—she….had touched his hair….during their kiss. She recalled this now. As she had landed upon him and fell into his mouth, her hands had reached to feel what it felt like—first to his neatly clipped facial hair, that same rich brown as his hair, and then had gone to his hair, lavishing in his textures, so thick and coarsely ….masculine, like his scent which….still lingered on her fingertips.
But like a song you don’t want to keep playing in your head when one gets stuck there, was that ringtone. Who was it that kept calling him?
She physically shook her head now to force away how this made her feel….and she reminded herself….’it is not any of my business, what right do I have to presume to be jealous?’
“Are you ok?” Grant suddenly asked her having noticed this and he himself felt concerned of his own actions of offending her during that moment; had he taken advantage of the kindness she had showed him?
“Oh!—yeah!” she said—with maybe too much enthusiasm
In the street light he could see her delicate complexion flush again…. but then, she did not pull her eyes from his right away; she seemed to search his carefully as she moved slightly closer. Searching. For…. ? it was actually for a sign of ….what he might be thinking….and if she were honest with herself then she would have admitted it was for a sign of what his real reaction was of her forward move on him. But she couldn’t really tell. He seemed to be studying her with his own concerns that she could not interpret which masked any clue for what she was searching for.
She had no way to know that his own doubts of offending her were much the same.
Faun caught another warm scent from him—this was slightly different, a kind of pleasant, wood-like, spicy scent she could not place but caused a sensation to rush through her as she inhaled it; it made her feel a bit dizzy and she tried to not allow herself to reveal this but, she lost her balance by the effects.
He caught her arm as she was about to trip over the uneven pavement of the sidewalk
Again, they both started to speak at the same time
“Look, I’m sorry if—“ (him)
“Hey, about wh—“ (her)
They both stopped in their speech realizing they were about to refer to the kiss —and, truth be told; it had not just been a kiss. There had been something —much more intended that had most overtly ….transpired ….and covertly, her face burned at the memory of the clear evidence of his desire —and the effect it had left upon her at the time had clearly left her with its takeaway reaction. Along with the lingering aftermath that also lingered. And wickedly played with her mind. At this moment it made her uncomfortable; but not out of embarrassment.
Had he picked up on this?
She moved to turn away just then but something stopped her, because, yes, her own effusion of scent mixed with lily of the valley, or was it patchouli or bergamot—?he couldn’t be sure ….gave her away—and that was the signal that caused him to suddenly push her up against the tree they stood by under the street lamp, holding her there, his hands in her thick and wild rubicund mane of hair, gripping hold of her skull in his hands. And this time there was no mistake about concern or worry for the action so that she forgot to think and forgot where they were—forgot King Leopold on the leash and the street with the possibility of passing cars; so caught in the feel of his kiss and the feel of his hands in her hair; the feel of his body pressed to the length of hers, the fabric of the drape of her burgundy dress strained and pulled slightly across her hips and lower between. And maybe she should have been thinking. Had she remembered how. But she wasn’t. It just felt too good to …. just give up ….to it. And lose herself.
She was not aware, then, that she had run her hands and flattened them to him; up and across his shoulders, while wantonly pressing into him and within the flannel business jacket he still wore, her fingers moving to and running along his scruffy jaw, stealing touches of him and his textures, desperate to know what they felt like and then burnt by the knowing of what she found.
But then it was the loud sound of her growling stomach that caused Grant to break the kiss,
“I think you’re hungry,” he said, “I wonder if we can find any place open at this hour?”
It took a few beats to comprehend his words. His lilting accent spinning its poetry in her mind but once replayed a few times in her thoughts, she decoded his meaning, and flushed vividly under the streetlight,
“this town closes up like a drum by eight— do you like scrabbled eggs? I’ve got eggs at home”
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