Moira turned to face her tormented love and leaned against the gate. He’d not so much as combed his hair without her to tell him to do it. It was a mess of long, brown tangles, tucked away behind his ears—likely only so that he could see. He was thin enough that she should feed him like a lad, and at the least, remind him to eat. She would not now alleviate his wrongdoing with trite concessions. That he had not trusted her was not okay. She encouraged Pluck to go ahead, over the narrow bars of the gate. She eyed his flight to the front lamppost—a favored perch, and then took Sam’s face in both hands. Shaking her head, she flashed a dark twinkle. “Oh, Samuel, I am so sorry that I was so right,” she whispered, drawing his mouth to hers. His deceptively youthful, unshaven face tickled her cheek. He was just sparely taller than she was; it allowed them to get very close with ease.
Posted on: Thu, 15 Jan 2015 19:22:10 +0000
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