Sinnerman

Chapter 23 Dates & Exhibitionism

She stood alone, on the muggy summers day. On a sun and shade freckled pavement. Under a spreading magnolia tree. Feeling the air kiss her skin. Rustle her hair and earrings.

Her arms were laden with a heavy picnic hamper. Filled with a bottle of her Grans favoured red wine, and two glasses. She'd baked brownies for them to share. Only she'd cheated slightly and bought two loaded club sandwiches from Frank's deli in town. Smiling meekly when the elderly proprietor and namesake of the business himself, asked her if she would be 'copping a squat' tonight at the open air movie. She said she wouldn't miss it - and she was bringing a date this year. It would be a Picnic rug for two.

"Well how 'bout that." He proclaimed with raised brows and an impressed wrinkled smile.

By now that would've been spread all around town by folk like wildfire in the dry season.

She'd dashed home to change after work. One of her more expensive sundresses. Deep sapphire blue. Bohemian style with short flute sleeves. Embroidered with brilliant white, pink, red, turquoise and yellow flowers. All flowers stitched together with emerald vines. The skirts were pleated and flowy, shifting when she moved. Her silver earrings were dangly and kept tangling with her hair. Her shoes were unremarkable wedge sandals. A grass picnic wasn't an ideal venue for tall stabby heels.

She'd barely had the time to dry her hair and slick on some makeup. Namely mascara and pink rosebud lipstick, and she had to be off out the door. Grabbing rugs and couple of cushions too. Hard ground wasn't easy to sit on for three hours straight.

And here she was, waiting expectantly for her dashing date to meet her where they'd arranged. She stood with her arms encumbered by the heavy wicker basket slung over one. The blanket rolled up tucked under one armpit. A bag of cushions hooked off opposite shoulder in a tote bag. The breeze whipping her skirts about her legs.

She chewed her lip nervously. Watching the town busy-bodies gaggled in the far distance. Most likely speculating on who she was waiting for. Or if she was going to the movies alone - again. Some of the ladies meant well and would try and shove and shoehorn grandsons, nephews and cousins in her direction. Some of them just wanted to meanly judge everyone around them.

There was a group of the latter stood in their pastel dresses, Sunday best, long skirts, or pants and fancy summer blouses. With their own hampers in hand, and their blue rinses all identical, ringlet curls on their heads. Evie tried to ignore the way she felt their eyes on her as she stood waiting.

She knew what they were thinking; "Poor girl. Alone again. No man on her arm this year."

Clearly they weren't on the grapevine for her news...

"Always alone. Poor thing."

"Never brings a date does she?"

"She's been practically on her own since the day her momma died, so I hear."

She pretends she can't hear their snide whispers and obvious pointing, and lets herself admire the spreading blossoms above her head as she waits patiently. She watches their petals flutter and shiver on the hot wind that ruffled its branches.

She almost drops everything she's holding when a big hot hand sears through her dress, reaching from behind to grab her hip. His arm brackets her ribs from his hold, and it's then she detects a great drift of delicious. Expensive citrus and spice teasing her senses, and making her body flush with awareness over who that singular luxury scent belonged too. Her stomach tenses, giddy with great stupid fluttery butterflies.

She bites her lip, eyes shut and sighs a smile. He lovingly strokes her hip. She smelt like honey and vanilla. As always, even the scent of her teased him into the first stirrings of arousal.