𝐀𝐢𝐧'𝐭 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭

Chapter 14: Ain't She Sweet

17 November, 1956

John's clothes, despite having been wrung out, still dripped rainwater onto the rug as Lynn held them up, and Fiona's heart nearly stopped as she stalled to think of an excuse.

"I- I was out in the rain." She bit her lip. John would have had a better answer...

Lynn was deep in thought over whether Fiona could be lying to her. And there, she thought they'd been getting quite close. She looked a bit hurt at the thought of such dishonesty. "Were you?"

Fiona stuttered. "Well... I was about to go out for a walk, didn't know it was raining till I got soaked, so I came in."

Lynn eyed her suspiciously, but nevertheless released the wet clothes when Fiona took them. Fiona breathed a sigh of relief that Lynn hadn't checked the size: had she done so, she would have realized that the shirt was several sizes too big – and men's.

Clutching John's soaked clothing as she raced upstairs, the bliss of having evaded the situation rained mercifully over Fiona. She wrung the fabric in the bathroom, then carried it back to her desk chair, though not without catching the smell of cigarette smoke on it.

Against her reservations, she held the shirt up to her nose and inhaled. The mixed scents of the smoke, of alcohol, and of mint gum made her head spin and her stomach flutter anxiously. The shirt smelled like John. It made her feel as though he was lying next to her, those beautiful eyes of his focusing only on her, his hand reaching to touch her hair...

No, she insisted to herself as she draped the clothing over her desk chair. No. But she was tempted to hold it to her face again. It smelled good.

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21 November, 1956

John's absence from her doorstep throughout the next week confirmed Fiona's suspicion that his aunt had, indeed, allowed him to stay and had forgiven him for his trip to the pub. Then again, knowing John, it was likely he'd never even told her.

Fiona had never directly interacted with John's aunt, but she recalled from that one day at the store that the woman seemed to be quite severe. Effectively the exact opposite of John.

But there was an emerging sense of witty humor beneath that façade... maybe Aunt Mimi wasn't so unlike her nephew after all. The thought of it brought a smile to her face.

Fiona's spirits were lifted even more as she recognized the aroma of Lynn's from-scratch dinner rolls from downstairs. She nearly opened the door to ask about dinner, but paused at the sound she heard through the open window.

Moving to the bathroom in the back of the house in order to see into John's yard, she spotted John himself, his injured eyes looking very unpleasant shades of green and yellow, and his guitar cradled in his arms.

She raced back to her room, quickly folding his clothes and tugging her leather jacket on over her sweater. Stashing the clothes in the side of her jacket so Lynn wouldn't see, she briefly called out that she was going for a walk. Lynn may have said something back, but Fiona had shut the door behind her before she could hear anything.

She immediately regretted not putting on something heavier, but nevertheless clutched the still-damp shirt and slacks under her arm and pulled her collar up around her neck. The light from the sun was rapidly fading; winter was clamoring forward, marking its new reign over the land with its chilly winds and dramatic sunsets.

The headlights of cars streaming down Menlove Avenue, heading home for the evening, penetrated the blue twilight, blinding her a bit as she made her way toward John's house. As she approached, the guitar music grew increasingly clear, and soon she could make out John's voice singing.