Post by Shane Alexander Madden on Aug 13, 2012 23:36:11 GMT -5
It was one thing to be in a foreign country, but to not be able to speak the language, that was an entirely different story, especially when you had no idea where you were, where you were going or how you were going to get there. Shane had a phone number and an address. Tracking down the person who had bought the ring in the first place, from the antique shop in Detroit, that was difficult. It had been some art dealer, which made Shane shake his head because didn’t art dealers look for new art? Then again, Shane didn’t have an art dealer, other dealers, maybe, but not an art dealer. He didn’t know that they looked for. But never the less, this one had a client who liked antique art. Much to Shane’s dismay, his ring that he wanted, the ring that Claire had fallen in love with, was apparently an antique, and much more to his dismay, was worth way, way more than it was being sold for in that little shop in Detroit. But how could Shane have known that day that he should buy it before someone else did? He and Claire had only just become whatever they were becoming at the time. How was he to know he’d regret letting that thing go. He couldn’t remember the name of the place, just somewhat where it had been. He’d called every antique, pawn shop type of place in a ten mile radius until he found the right one. The guy remembered the ring, told Shane he himself was bitter about selling it. He too had found out a little too late what it was worth, the guy ending up getting way less than it was worth for it. But he’d given the name of the dealer, and lucky for Shane the art dealer was in New York. But unlucky for him at the time, he happened to be on tour. It was hard to find something when you were touring the continent on a bus playing rock music every night. And the art dealer had been some pretentious hipster who wasn’t willing to budge. Shane hounded the guy for weeks. He had a feeling the only reason the guy had finally fessed up who his client was, was because his client got wind of it and was curious what 20 year old rock star wanted that ring so bad. Shane didn’t care what the lady thought, if she was curious, they were in business.
She ended up being worse than the art dealer. She was some British aristocrat who was widowed and living in Italy where she spent a majority of her life with her late Italian husband. She spent weeks occasionally on the upper east side of New York apparently, and of course she wasn’t in town. She’d told Shane in her snooty British voice that she was not willing to sell and he should stop calling. Sure he’d groveled a little bit. To be honest he just hadn’t left her alone. She said he could send the money and she’d send the ring. How do I know you won’t just keep my money and the ring, Shane wanted to know. She’d replied with, how do I know you won’t keep my ring and never send me the money? They had been at a stale mate. Eventually she woman told him, “If you are serious about this piece of jewelry young man, you can drag your able bodied behind to Italy and convince me in person, I am too old to go round with you.” Shane thought, fine. I will. As soon as warped tour was over on Sunday, Shane and Claire had come home on Monday, unpacked most of their things, took a few days to relax and were back on a plane by Friday. It was Saturday, Claire was off doing who knows what here in Milan, probably standing in front of Prada, convincing herself not to go in when she knew damn well she wanted to. Shane was standing on a street corner, trying to understand street signs. He saw someone waking passed, “Hey, bro, do you know where…” Shane paused, not even sure how you pronounce the street address. The man looked at him funny, “Scusi?” and held his hand out, Shane placing the paper in his hand. The man read the map and, pointed down the street, “Andate in questo modo, su questa strada, andate a sinistra al prossimo angolo, andare in piazza grande, andate a destra, vicoli ciechi nella vostra strada, andate a destra, cercare il numero civico.” Shane must have looked completely lost, the man, looking sympathetic and tried to make it easier. Again he pointed down the street, “In questo modo…” Shane nodded, go this way? The man motioned to turn left, “a sinistra, trovare la piazza,” he made a big gesture, like an open space, Shane thought he understood, weren’t piazza’s like, big town squares? Maybe…? Okay, go down this street, hang a left until you get to a square, then… “destra,” the man motioned to the right, then pointed his hands straight, then lastly pointed at the street name on Shane’s paper. The man smiled, nodded, and went on his way, Shane mumbling, “Grazi…” and started walking.
What would have taken any Italian person maybe ten minutes took Shane a good 40 and had to ask directions twice after that. But he was on the right street now, looking into a courtyard of a massive old house that looked like it was barely squeezed in on this street, as everything was so cramped. The house number was right, at least numbers he could figure out. Shane walked up to the door, a giant double story wood barricade it looked more like, ringing the bell. He waited a moment, an old voice answering, sounding very familiar, “Chi c’è?” “Uhh…” Shane paused, scratching his head, “My name is Shane Madden, I’m looking for Cecelia D’Amato?” There was a short pause and then a sigh, “Oh, you’re really here. I suppose you want me to let you in.” Shane made a face, waiting. For a minute or two he thought she wasn’t going to let him in, or that she’d forgotten, but after a few minutes the door opened slowly, a short, frail woman standing in the doorway, “Well, come inside before I change my mind.” She lead the way inside, walking like she was about to break, old and hunched over, borderline one of the most frail old women he had ever laid his eyes on, but didn’t even turn around when she spat, “Remove your shoes, young man, don’t you even think about tracking dirt into my home.” For looking like she might crumble at any moment, she sure had a mouth on her. Her mind wasn’t going, that was for sure. They went into a formal sitting room that looked like it was never touched except that there was a fresh cup of steaming tea and a newspaper on the coffee table. Shane wondered if she lived here alone, she was widowed after all. She motioned for him to sit down across from her so he did, and she lowered herself down slowly, letting out a sigh as she sank comfortably into the cushion. She eyed him harshly, no doubt judging the shit out of him. “How old are you Shane Madden?” “20.” “Do you ever comb your hair?” “Yes…?” “Pull your pants up, I can see your undergarments.” Shane looked at her, not wanting to piss her off, but she was something else. She went on, “You mean to tell me young man you expect me to believe you can afford a fine piece of jewelry but you can’t afford yourself a belt?” Shane shrugged, “More like a personal style choice…” She scoffed, “In my day, men dressed well, and let me tell you, they looked fine and dapper, a sight to see. None of this grungy, don’t care, just rolled out of bed nonsense… I tell you…” she trailed off, pulling a hankerchief off of the table and cough lightly into it. “What do you even do for a living, did you graduate from high school as you call it over there?” “Yes…” Barely…, “Are you attending university?” “Well, no.” “Ha! I thought not, so tell me then, what do you do? Do you realize this piece is worth much more than when you last saw it?” “Yes, I’m aware of that, I assure you I can afford whatever you are asking.” “Answer the damn question, what do you do?” Shane took a breath, this was like getting the third degree from Claire’s parent’s. “I’m in a band.” “You’re in a band. And does this band have a lot of fans?” “Yeah…” “Do you tour the country?” “Yeah, we tour the world actually.” She looked at him, softening a bit, “That is interesting. Music, that’s your dream?” “Yeah I guess it is.” “Don’t say you guess it is, say that it is.” Shane laughed slightly, “It is.” “Well, you surprise me. University isn’t for everyone. Sometimes people have to take other paths to reach their dreams. What do you and your bandmates call yourselves?” “All Time Low.” She pointed beside him to an endtable where there was a pen and a pad of paper beside an old fashioned phone, “Hand me that please, and the pen. Thank you,” she took it from him, “All…Time…Low…” Shane waited until she looked up, “What? I have that thing, the internet or whatever the hell kids call it. The net, I don’t know. You’ve interested me, I will look up your band sometime.” Shane watched her and then asked, “So where is the ring?” She set the pad and pen aside, looking at him as if it were obvious, “Put away, of course! A fine piece like that should be taken care of, cleaned and displayed in a case or on the finger of a beautiful young woman. Don’t rush me young man, I’m still getting used to the fact that you showed up.” “You didn’t think I would?” “No. No young man your age would come all the way here for the hell of it. Tell me about her.” Shane hadn’t mentioned Claire at all, not even on the phone, he’d just told her he wanted the ring. He suspected she hadn’t actually planned on selling it him so she hadn’t bothered to ask. “Don’t play coy, Shane, I may be old and feeble but my mind works perfectly fine. No man, at 20 years of age would fly across the ocean for a ring from an old batty woman unless there was a special young woman he wanted to give it to. What’s her name?” Shane smiled, “Claire.” “That is a pretty name, short for something?” “Yeah, Clarissa, but hardly anyone calls her that.” “Hmmm. I knew a girl named Clarissa in finishing school, she was a snotty twat. No wonder you call her Claire. I like that. Is she from your hometown?” “No actually, she’s from Australia.” “Really?” “Yeah?” “And does her family like you?” “I think so, her brother introduced us…” “Introduced you?” “Not really.” “I didn’t think so.” Cecelia smoothed her skirt, looking at him, “Do you love her?” “Excuse me?” “Do you love her? It isn’t that hard of a question.” “Yeah I do.” “Of course you do, you came all the way here.” She leaned forward slightly, “Why this ring? If you don’t mind me asking. I don’t doubt you can afford it, I’m will not insult you. You’ve made it clear gallivanting around the world with an electric guitar apparently pays you well.” She smiled though, at least she was warming up to him. “Claire and I were in Detroit when I was on tour, and she saw it in an antique shop. I guess I just… I could tell she loved it. I don’t know. I guess I could have just bought a new one, but she loved this one. And it was different, and she liked that.” Shane shrugged, “Anyone with money can walk into a jeweler and get a custom designed ring made. But… she lit up when she saw this one. Seemed like an easy decision.” “More like a smart one. You surprise me, Shane. I don’t like people like you, but I like you. You have an old soul. You remind me of my husband. Do you have a picture of Claire?”
Shane nodded, pulling out his phone and found a picture of her, the first one he found was her in the ballet studio, hair half falling out of her pony tail, doing some complicated ballet move, Shane didn’t really know, something called an arabesque. He went to pass her the phone but she shook her head, “Don’t hand me that device, they confuse me, just bring it here.” She motioned that he should sit beside her so he did, showing her the picture. She smiled, “Ahh, now I can see why you would be smitten with her, she is a ballerina, no?” “Yeah she was.” “Was?” she questioned, still looking at the picture, “Yeah she uh, actually just quit recently.” “Why?” Cecelia demanded, turning to face him. “Well,” Shane started, knowing she wouldn’t like his answer, “She had to take time off, we just had a baby.” She dead eyed him. “You got her pregnant, and cost her her dream.” “Well…” “Don’t say well, you knocked her up, and she had to put her dream aside, and now you are doing the good thing and want to marry her. I see now.” Shane frowned, “Yeah I guess you would see it like that.” Cecelia stopped, frowning also, “I would? What because I am old, I must be old fashioned? Are you judging me?” Shane let out a laugh, shaking his head, “The way you judged me when you let me in your house?” She paused, nodding, “I did do that yes… the tables have turned. So if that isn’t how it is, how is it?” “I don’t know. She didn’t have to leave ballet, but she did. I wish she wouldn’t have.” “Why?” “Because… she loved it. Loves it, I should say. The way I love music, that’s how she loves ballet. I can tell. And she is so, so good at it. The best. But… I don’t know, I think she feels she’s past that part of her life now, because we have Brayden.” “Is Brayden your baby?” “Yeah, our son.” “Hmm. Do you have a picture of him?” Shane nodded, pulling up another picture of the three of them, Brayden in the middle with Claire pressing her cheek against his, hugging him tight and smiling brightly, Shane on the other side of the frame kissing Brayden’s other cheek. Cecelia didn’t say anything at first. “Precious child.” Shane nodded, agreeing. Cecelia gripped the arm of the seat she was sitting in, climbing to her feet, “Okay, we can take a trip down the hall to my room, and I like you, so you can take my arm and help me. My legs don’t work as well as they used to. They tell me I should use this walker, but to hell with it, I’m going to use my legs until I can’t anymore.” Shane helped her down the hall, her bedroom on this floor since he was sure she couldn’t use the stairs. Once they got there she sat down in a chair by the bed and pointed to a jewelry box, asking him to hand it to her. He did and she opened it, pulling the ring out, still in its own box. She handed it to him, and he opened it. There is was. Cecelia had obviously had it cleaned, the way it caught the light. “I wanted to put it on display but I was having a glass box made. I think though, now that we have conversed, that this ring belongs with you.” Shane smiled, he’d actually won her over. Somehow. “Thank you, I really can’t tell you how important this is.” “Oh, I think I know.” Shane got his wallet out, finding an envelope of american dollars but Cecelia shook her head, “No, no.” “What? No, I said I would purchase it from you.” “Shane, I am an old woman. I didn’t pay that much for it. Knowing it is going to be on a beautiful young bride it reward enough, I don’t want your money.” “But-“ “Don’t argue with me. You have my address, send me a picture. When you get married. Not on the computer, real mail.”
Shane left Cecelia’s after he’d helped her with her own jewelry, putting a necklace of her choice on before someone showed up to escort her to the market. She said she liked to get out in town and enjoy the sunny days, she just needed help getting around. She seemed to be in good hands, so he said goodbye and started making his way back. He texted Claire to tell her he was finished and would meet her back at the gelato shop where they’d parted ways earlier. Now he was a equipped with the ring he wanted, feeling like it was burning a hole in his hand. He had been planning on coming to get it, spend a little vacation time with Claire, go home. Plan a way to propose, make it perfect. Put some thought into it. How was he was supposed to do that now, wait that long? Shane put the ring box in his back pack, one of those small nylon ones with a drawstring. Handy for traveling, with things like a map that he didn’t know how to navigate because he couldn’t read that shit. But whatever. Shane finally made it back, seeing Claire sitting outside at a table, sliding into a seat across from her, feeling ridiculous because he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face now that he was sitting here with her. “Hey. What did you do when I was gone? Window shop?” he teased, sitting back in his chair, unable to stop smiling.
Outfit
She ended up being worse than the art dealer. She was some British aristocrat who was widowed and living in Italy where she spent a majority of her life with her late Italian husband. She spent weeks occasionally on the upper east side of New York apparently, and of course she wasn’t in town. She’d told Shane in her snooty British voice that she was not willing to sell and he should stop calling. Sure he’d groveled a little bit. To be honest he just hadn’t left her alone. She said he could send the money and she’d send the ring. How do I know you won’t just keep my money and the ring, Shane wanted to know. She’d replied with, how do I know you won’t keep my ring and never send me the money? They had been at a stale mate. Eventually she woman told him, “If you are serious about this piece of jewelry young man, you can drag your able bodied behind to Italy and convince me in person, I am too old to go round with you.” Shane thought, fine. I will. As soon as warped tour was over on Sunday, Shane and Claire had come home on Monday, unpacked most of their things, took a few days to relax and were back on a plane by Friday. It was Saturday, Claire was off doing who knows what here in Milan, probably standing in front of Prada, convincing herself not to go in when she knew damn well she wanted to. Shane was standing on a street corner, trying to understand street signs. He saw someone waking passed, “Hey, bro, do you know where…” Shane paused, not even sure how you pronounce the street address. The man looked at him funny, “Scusi?” and held his hand out, Shane placing the paper in his hand. The man read the map and, pointed down the street, “Andate in questo modo, su questa strada, andate a sinistra al prossimo angolo, andare in piazza grande, andate a destra, vicoli ciechi nella vostra strada, andate a destra, cercare il numero civico.” Shane must have looked completely lost, the man, looking sympathetic and tried to make it easier. Again he pointed down the street, “In questo modo…” Shane nodded, go this way? The man motioned to turn left, “a sinistra, trovare la piazza,” he made a big gesture, like an open space, Shane thought he understood, weren’t piazza’s like, big town squares? Maybe…? Okay, go down this street, hang a left until you get to a square, then… “destra,” the man motioned to the right, then pointed his hands straight, then lastly pointed at the street name on Shane’s paper. The man smiled, nodded, and went on his way, Shane mumbling, “Grazi…” and started walking.
What would have taken any Italian person maybe ten minutes took Shane a good 40 and had to ask directions twice after that. But he was on the right street now, looking into a courtyard of a massive old house that looked like it was barely squeezed in on this street, as everything was so cramped. The house number was right, at least numbers he could figure out. Shane walked up to the door, a giant double story wood barricade it looked more like, ringing the bell. He waited a moment, an old voice answering, sounding very familiar, “Chi c’è?” “Uhh…” Shane paused, scratching his head, “My name is Shane Madden, I’m looking for Cecelia D’Amato?” There was a short pause and then a sigh, “Oh, you’re really here. I suppose you want me to let you in.” Shane made a face, waiting. For a minute or two he thought she wasn’t going to let him in, or that she’d forgotten, but after a few minutes the door opened slowly, a short, frail woman standing in the doorway, “Well, come inside before I change my mind.” She lead the way inside, walking like she was about to break, old and hunched over, borderline one of the most frail old women he had ever laid his eyes on, but didn’t even turn around when she spat, “Remove your shoes, young man, don’t you even think about tracking dirt into my home.” For looking like she might crumble at any moment, she sure had a mouth on her. Her mind wasn’t going, that was for sure. They went into a formal sitting room that looked like it was never touched except that there was a fresh cup of steaming tea and a newspaper on the coffee table. Shane wondered if she lived here alone, she was widowed after all. She motioned for him to sit down across from her so he did, and she lowered herself down slowly, letting out a sigh as she sank comfortably into the cushion. She eyed him harshly, no doubt judging the shit out of him. “How old are you Shane Madden?” “20.” “Do you ever comb your hair?” “Yes…?” “Pull your pants up, I can see your undergarments.” Shane looked at her, not wanting to piss her off, but she was something else. She went on, “You mean to tell me young man you expect me to believe you can afford a fine piece of jewelry but you can’t afford yourself a belt?” Shane shrugged, “More like a personal style choice…” She scoffed, “In my day, men dressed well, and let me tell you, they looked fine and dapper, a sight to see. None of this grungy, don’t care, just rolled out of bed nonsense… I tell you…” she trailed off, pulling a hankerchief off of the table and cough lightly into it. “What do you even do for a living, did you graduate from high school as you call it over there?” “Yes…” Barely…, “Are you attending university?” “Well, no.” “Ha! I thought not, so tell me then, what do you do? Do you realize this piece is worth much more than when you last saw it?” “Yes, I’m aware of that, I assure you I can afford whatever you are asking.” “Answer the damn question, what do you do?” Shane took a breath, this was like getting the third degree from Claire’s parent’s. “I’m in a band.” “You’re in a band. And does this band have a lot of fans?” “Yeah…” “Do you tour the country?” “Yeah, we tour the world actually.” She looked at him, softening a bit, “That is interesting. Music, that’s your dream?” “Yeah I guess it is.” “Don’t say you guess it is, say that it is.” Shane laughed slightly, “It is.” “Well, you surprise me. University isn’t for everyone. Sometimes people have to take other paths to reach their dreams. What do you and your bandmates call yourselves?” “All Time Low.” She pointed beside him to an endtable where there was a pen and a pad of paper beside an old fashioned phone, “Hand me that please, and the pen. Thank you,” she took it from him, “All…Time…Low…” Shane waited until she looked up, “What? I have that thing, the internet or whatever the hell kids call it. The net, I don’t know. You’ve interested me, I will look up your band sometime.” Shane watched her and then asked, “So where is the ring?” She set the pad and pen aside, looking at him as if it were obvious, “Put away, of course! A fine piece like that should be taken care of, cleaned and displayed in a case or on the finger of a beautiful young woman. Don’t rush me young man, I’m still getting used to the fact that you showed up.” “You didn’t think I would?” “No. No young man your age would come all the way here for the hell of it. Tell me about her.” Shane hadn’t mentioned Claire at all, not even on the phone, he’d just told her he wanted the ring. He suspected she hadn’t actually planned on selling it him so she hadn’t bothered to ask. “Don’t play coy, Shane, I may be old and feeble but my mind works perfectly fine. No man, at 20 years of age would fly across the ocean for a ring from an old batty woman unless there was a special young woman he wanted to give it to. What’s her name?” Shane smiled, “Claire.” “That is a pretty name, short for something?” “Yeah, Clarissa, but hardly anyone calls her that.” “Hmmm. I knew a girl named Clarissa in finishing school, she was a snotty twat. No wonder you call her Claire. I like that. Is she from your hometown?” “No actually, she’s from Australia.” “Really?” “Yeah?” “And does her family like you?” “I think so, her brother introduced us…” “Introduced you?” “Not really.” “I didn’t think so.” Cecelia smoothed her skirt, looking at him, “Do you love her?” “Excuse me?” “Do you love her? It isn’t that hard of a question.” “Yeah I do.” “Of course you do, you came all the way here.” She leaned forward slightly, “Why this ring? If you don’t mind me asking. I don’t doubt you can afford it, I’m will not insult you. You’ve made it clear gallivanting around the world with an electric guitar apparently pays you well.” She smiled though, at least she was warming up to him. “Claire and I were in Detroit when I was on tour, and she saw it in an antique shop. I guess I just… I could tell she loved it. I don’t know. I guess I could have just bought a new one, but she loved this one. And it was different, and she liked that.” Shane shrugged, “Anyone with money can walk into a jeweler and get a custom designed ring made. But… she lit up when she saw this one. Seemed like an easy decision.” “More like a smart one. You surprise me, Shane. I don’t like people like you, but I like you. You have an old soul. You remind me of my husband. Do you have a picture of Claire?”
Shane nodded, pulling out his phone and found a picture of her, the first one he found was her in the ballet studio, hair half falling out of her pony tail, doing some complicated ballet move, Shane didn’t really know, something called an arabesque. He went to pass her the phone but she shook her head, “Don’t hand me that device, they confuse me, just bring it here.” She motioned that he should sit beside her so he did, showing her the picture. She smiled, “Ahh, now I can see why you would be smitten with her, she is a ballerina, no?” “Yeah she was.” “Was?” she questioned, still looking at the picture, “Yeah she uh, actually just quit recently.” “Why?” Cecelia demanded, turning to face him. “Well,” Shane started, knowing she wouldn’t like his answer, “She had to take time off, we just had a baby.” She dead eyed him. “You got her pregnant, and cost her her dream.” “Well…” “Don’t say well, you knocked her up, and she had to put her dream aside, and now you are doing the good thing and want to marry her. I see now.” Shane frowned, “Yeah I guess you would see it like that.” Cecelia stopped, frowning also, “I would? What because I am old, I must be old fashioned? Are you judging me?” Shane let out a laugh, shaking his head, “The way you judged me when you let me in your house?” She paused, nodding, “I did do that yes… the tables have turned. So if that isn’t how it is, how is it?” “I don’t know. She didn’t have to leave ballet, but she did. I wish she wouldn’t have.” “Why?” “Because… she loved it. Loves it, I should say. The way I love music, that’s how she loves ballet. I can tell. And she is so, so good at it. The best. But… I don’t know, I think she feels she’s past that part of her life now, because we have Brayden.” “Is Brayden your baby?” “Yeah, our son.” “Hmm. Do you have a picture of him?” Shane nodded, pulling up another picture of the three of them, Brayden in the middle with Claire pressing her cheek against his, hugging him tight and smiling brightly, Shane on the other side of the frame kissing Brayden’s other cheek. Cecelia didn’t say anything at first. “Precious child.” Shane nodded, agreeing. Cecelia gripped the arm of the seat she was sitting in, climbing to her feet, “Okay, we can take a trip down the hall to my room, and I like you, so you can take my arm and help me. My legs don’t work as well as they used to. They tell me I should use this walker, but to hell with it, I’m going to use my legs until I can’t anymore.” Shane helped her down the hall, her bedroom on this floor since he was sure she couldn’t use the stairs. Once they got there she sat down in a chair by the bed and pointed to a jewelry box, asking him to hand it to her. He did and she opened it, pulling the ring out, still in its own box. She handed it to him, and he opened it. There is was. Cecelia had obviously had it cleaned, the way it caught the light. “I wanted to put it on display but I was having a glass box made. I think though, now that we have conversed, that this ring belongs with you.” Shane smiled, he’d actually won her over. Somehow. “Thank you, I really can’t tell you how important this is.” “Oh, I think I know.” Shane got his wallet out, finding an envelope of american dollars but Cecelia shook her head, “No, no.” “What? No, I said I would purchase it from you.” “Shane, I am an old woman. I didn’t pay that much for it. Knowing it is going to be on a beautiful young bride it reward enough, I don’t want your money.” “But-“ “Don’t argue with me. You have my address, send me a picture. When you get married. Not on the computer, real mail.”
Shane left Cecelia’s after he’d helped her with her own jewelry, putting a necklace of her choice on before someone showed up to escort her to the market. She said she liked to get out in town and enjoy the sunny days, she just needed help getting around. She seemed to be in good hands, so he said goodbye and started making his way back. He texted Claire to tell her he was finished and would meet her back at the gelato shop where they’d parted ways earlier. Now he was a equipped with the ring he wanted, feeling like it was burning a hole in his hand. He had been planning on coming to get it, spend a little vacation time with Claire, go home. Plan a way to propose, make it perfect. Put some thought into it. How was he was supposed to do that now, wait that long? Shane put the ring box in his back pack, one of those small nylon ones with a drawstring. Handy for traveling, with things like a map that he didn’t know how to navigate because he couldn’t read that shit. But whatever. Shane finally made it back, seeing Claire sitting outside at a table, sliding into a seat across from her, feeling ridiculous because he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face now that he was sitting here with her. “Hey. What did you do when I was gone? Window shop?” he teased, sitting back in his chair, unable to stop smiling.
Outfit
