“...Ross?” Freddie said, looking bemused.
“Alfred,” Ross replied, matter-of-fact.
“Can I...help you with something?” Freddie ventured now, glancing first left and then right along the street.
Ross offered the other man a nod. “I'm here to pick up Amber,” he said, just as Sam called from the interior:
“Who is it?”
Freddie opened his mouth to respond, but he wasn't quite quick enough to preempt Sam's ruffling of skirt and shuffling of shoes as she appeared at the door. And he certainly wasn't quick enough to stop her from muttering to Ross, “What do you think you're doing here?”
“Nice to see you, too, Sam,” Ross sneered. Then he repeated: “I'm here for Amber.” He shot her a too-nice smile. “We have a date.”
“Like hell,” Sam muttered, and now she stepped in front of Freddie, crossing her arms in front of her ample chest. “You're not taking her anywhere.”
“Why don't you ask her what she wants?” Ross countered, unable to keep the provoking edge from his voice.
Sam's lips – the same ones he'd once thought would be rather tasty – curled into a snarl at him. But before she could let loose with a retort, Amber came bouncing between them in her boots, her blonde hair and white fringed scarf flying out behind her as she trotted down the steps.
“I'm going out,” Amber told Sam and Freddie in a rush. “I have my mobile, don't wait up, good night, I love you, bye!” And she paused only ever so briefly to kiss Sam quickly on the cheek before she skipped past her to the street.
Ross chuckled, Freddie just stared, but Sam held up one hand. “Just one minute, young lady!” she said, and Amber spun round to face her, the short skirt of her retro-mod dress twirling up around her thighs.
“I'll be home before morning,” Amber told her, as though anticipating an argument.
Sam frowned. “Ten,” she corrected.
“Midnight,” Amber replied with a negotiating smile. Then she hooked her arms around Ross's elbow and started to pull him down the street, calling back over her shoulder, “Not a minute after; I promise!” And before anyone could say another word, she had dragged him nearly around the corner, where he finally managed to bring her to a halt.
“You are a whirlwind, girl,” he said with a laugh. “You know that?”
Amber shrugged. “Sam still thinks I'm twelve,” she muttered. “She thinks she has to protect me.”
Even if he shared little else in common with Sam, Ross could sympathize with that particular sentiment; after knowing her barely a week, Amber already tended to evoke his protector instincts. (Mostly because he wanted to keep her for himself, but that was beside the point.) “I can understand that,” he told her, and then, with a little flourish, he pulled his other arm out from behind his back, extending to her the iris in its delicate paper wrap. “M'lady,” he said, smiling with gentle charm.
She blinked her eyes, then took the flower with a little shimmying curtsey. “Thank you, sir,” she said, playing along. Then she lifted the petals toward her face, closed her eyes, and gave an audible inhalation that made her chest puff in a very attractive way, and that made him smile even more winningly at her. She looked up at him again, returning his smile with one that was as doting as it was sweet.
“I love irises,” she murmured, and then she stepped up beside him again, looping her arm through his once more. Though this time when she started to walk again, he quite distinctly felt her hip move close to his.
Ross slowed his pace for her, then grinned to himself; he should have been taking women advice from Venus all along. At least he'd done so tonight, though, and had the company of this pretty girl to show for it.
“You butt heads with Sam a lot?” he asked now, as they walked more leisurely toward the village square and its sweets shop.
“She just worries,” Amber answered with a quiet sigh. “She's done since I was little.” Then she giggled. “Especially about boys,” she added, squeezing herself against his arm in a very warm and cosy way.
“I expect that's justified,” he replied, shooting her a toothy smile as he leaned over her. “We can be quite wicked.”
I'm starting to lose some steam, now, though, as I tend to do later in the evening. I've found that I write best very early in the morning, and then I get another burst around the time I take my train commute home, and a final surge of good vibes after dinner. Regardless, I'm just so happy to be writing something I love again.
...I just wish there were people with whom I could share it.
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