Elodie
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Dec 10, 2001
- Posts
- 140
Molly
She turned slowly to see the young man stood in the doorway, a vast bouquet of roses of the most beautiful shades gathered in his arms, deep reds, soft creams, delicate pinks. She looked him up and down, taking in his tall slender frame, his handsome yet still somewhat boyish features. Her face didn't betray it for a moment but she was instantaneously somewhat taken with him and couldn't quite pinpoint why.
Molly put the pheasant she had been preparing down on the table with a muted thud and gestured to the low table by the door. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that a feather from one of the dead birds had managed to lodge itself in the hair that framed her face. She reached up and quickly pulled it free, somewhat embarrassed by her appearance.
'Just there'll be fine,' she said softly. 'Thank you.'
She took herself by surprise. She rarely thanked anyone. It wasn't that she was rude, more that she found courtesy to be surplus to requirements the majority of the time and preferred to be economical with her words. But she was even more surprised by what came next.
'You're the gardener's son, are you not?' she asked, taking a step closer. 'You've not been here more'n a couple of days, surely. Well....it's cold out. Can I get you a drink? Some tea perhaps? Or warm milk?'
She stopped her mouth from running away with her, painfully aware that she'd already perhaps spoken more in the space of a minute than she was usually wont to do in an entire week. She watched him, waiting for his response.
She turned slowly to see the young man stood in the doorway, a vast bouquet of roses of the most beautiful shades gathered in his arms, deep reds, soft creams, delicate pinks. She looked him up and down, taking in his tall slender frame, his handsome yet still somewhat boyish features. Her face didn't betray it for a moment but she was instantaneously somewhat taken with him and couldn't quite pinpoint why.
Molly put the pheasant she had been preparing down on the table with a muted thud and gestured to the low table by the door. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that a feather from one of the dead birds had managed to lodge itself in the hair that framed her face. She reached up and quickly pulled it free, somewhat embarrassed by her appearance.
'Just there'll be fine,' she said softly. 'Thank you.'
She took herself by surprise. She rarely thanked anyone. It wasn't that she was rude, more that she found courtesy to be surplus to requirements the majority of the time and preferred to be economical with her words. But she was even more surprised by what came next.
'You're the gardener's son, are you not?' she asked, taking a step closer. 'You've not been here more'n a couple of days, surely. Well....it's cold out. Can I get you a drink? Some tea perhaps? Or warm milk?'
She stopped her mouth from running away with her, painfully aware that she'd already perhaps spoken more in the space of a minute than she was usually wont to do in an entire week. She watched him, waiting for his response.