#her husband got a deli in the front and a bakery in the back

[skiploom]

congratulations to mrs columbo

[nobedofroses]

December 7

pairing: Marcus Moreno x reader

warnings: 13yo mocking, ice skating, horny for husband!Marcus

words: 1.6k

a/n: this one is a little disjointed probs but cute and fun Marcus and Missy (and Missy’s friend lol)

Last, Full List, Next, More Marcus

🏔🏔🏔

Missy had begged you and Marcus for a trip to the city so she and her friend, Rosa, could go ice skating at Rockefeller Center. She approached you each separately, convincing you because you could make a weekend of it and see a show and have a fancy dinner and go shopping. Then the two of you went to Marcus and he was helpless to resist.

That weekend, you arrived at a vacation rental in Manhattan, chosen instead of a hotel so that the two of you could ensure that the girls wouldn’t try to sneak off (they were still young, but you’d rather be over safe than sorry) while maintaining privacy for you and Marcus. Just in case. 

The first afternoon was spent settling in and going to a couple pizza places nearby to find the favorite of the group, something Missy and Rosa took very seriously. 

In the morning, you went to a deli and a bakery right next to each other so you could have bagels and donuts. Marcus then suggested that if you wanted to do shopping, it should be now so that you could go skating around noon, hopefully when everyone else was having lunch. 

A couple hours later, you were back at the vacation rental to layer up and drop off the bags and bags full of things you had bought. With each new purchase, you had seen Marcus wince a little bit more, but you had made a budget and were still well within its confines. And tonight you would get him out of his miserly mood the way only you knew how. 

When the four of you got to the skating rink, it turned out you were not the only ones who had the plan to come during lunch. While it was probably less busy than normal, there was still a wait time, but it was relatively easy to stay patient once you all had a cup of steaming hot cocoa. 

In half an hour, you were in line to get the girls skates, but when you got to the front, Marcus told them all four of your sizes. 

“No honey, I’m not gonna skate, I’ll just watch,” you told him, scrunching your nose. 

“C’mon babe, I’ll get them and you can try it and if you hate it we’ll just sit on the side, but we can take it slow, okay?” he asked you with pleading eyes and you were helpless to resist. 

“Okay, I’ll try,” you told him and then got out of the way of the line while he grabbed your two sets of skates and the girls grabbed theirs. 

Once you had all put on the skates and dropped your shoes off at the little locker Marcus had gotten the key for, you headed to the ice. Missy and Rosa, of course, were far ahead and skating before you had even wobbled over to the entrance. Then Marcus started picking up speed, moving from your side where you had been counting on him to catch you if you fell. 

“Wait up, Marcus! I’m not sure I can make it to the ice!” you called after him pleadingly. 

He just told you over his shoulder, “Just a second, sweetie, I’m just picking something up for when we’re on the ice.” 

You had absolutely no idea what he was talking about and were getting grumpy that he had left you behind. Especially when you got to the entrance and were going to either stand there and wait like an idiot or try and get on the ice on your own. And while the first was embarrassing, it would be a lot less dangerous. So you stood there, impatient and stubborn, waiting for Marcus to deign come back to you and help. 

But before you could get too too annoyed, he skated up from the ice, very unexpectedly, toting something that made your stomach drop out when you realized what it was. 

“Marcus, I am not going to use the penguin,” you downright whined, feeling heat come to your cheeks and you ducked your head, not wanting to attract any attention to yourself. 

“Sweetheart, come here, please. I promise you don’t have to use the penguin,” Marcus entreated you, holding a hand out to help you over the threshold. Only because you trusted him to take care of you did you take it and let him. 

You stumbled, but when Marcus moved his hand to your waist and you held his upper arm, you were able to stand straight. Taking a quick breath, you smiled up at Marcus, proud at the little achievement of actually being on the ice. But when you took a step forward, which meant Marcus had to take a step back, he’s the one that stumbled. 

Marcus let go of you immediately so that if he fell he didn’t take you down with him. He only managed to keep his balance when he grabbed onto the penguin with both hands. 

“As you can see, I am also not very good at ice skating. The penguin is for me,” he told you, panting a little from the exertion it took not to fall. 

You smiled because he was ridiculously cute slightly embarrassed, but then asked, “If you’re using the penguin, how the hell am I going to make it around the rink?” 

Marcus blushed a little and slowly turned so he was three quarters of the way facing away from you, “I was thinking I could be your penguin.” 

How absolutely adorable he was distracted you for a second as you thought about how you were totally going to rail him tonight. But then you remembered where you were and made a happy sound, rushing forward. However, you forgot you were on ice, and accidentally moved too fast, crashing into Marcus back and sending the two of you sliding forward, nearly out of control. 

The penguin, of course, was your savior, keeping the two of you on your feet and letting you coast to an only slightly shaky stop. The two of you stayed frozen for a few seconds, not wanting to jinx anything and fall. Especially because you were now fully away from the wall surrounding the edge. 

In a sudden flurry of movement, you were circled by flashes of pink and blue. When they stopped moving at what seemed like the speed of light, they were Missy and Rosa, respectively. 

They were laughing before they were even standing still. Likely, they had been laughing for a while. 

“You two are so lame,” Missy half-complained, half-laughed. “Those things are for babies.” 

“No, they’re cute, total couple goals!” Rosa giggled and you had to chuckle too, remembering what it was like to be a 13 year old girl. 

“Ew, Rosa, they’re old,” Missy told her and Rosa shrugged. So Missy switched topics, “How are you guys gonna skate if you’re too scared to move?” 

“I don’t know, mija, are you gonna push us?” Marcus asked, a little sassy because he already knew the issue at hand. 

Missy shrugged, “Rosa, you push, I’ll pull.” 

Before either you or Marcus could process what Missy said, the two girls had moved to either end and started moving you. Rosa put her hands on the middle of your back and started skating, so you braced yourself better against Marcus so her force would push him too. Missy went in front of the penguin and grabbed onto one of the handles on top of its head. 

You were very impressed that the two of them were strong enough to get all four of you moving, but then Rosa nudged your back to get your attention, “Hey, you gotta skate too, we can’t do all the work.” 

Feeling thoroughly chastised by a teenager, you started moving your feet, trying to mimic the girls’ movements. Marcus must have gotten a similar treatment from Missy, because he was skating now too. 

The girls took you just under halfway around the rink and then let you go, cutting across the rink back to the entrance and the hot chocolate after saying that they needed a break after lugging you two around.

 Once they were gone, you and Marcus moved at a much slower pace. But it was still nice, with your hands on Marcus’ waist, warm and strong. Soon enough, you were less using him for balance and more just wrapping your arms around him. You kept things PG, but were getting to feel like maybe you should head out soon and “take a nap.” 

The two of you were just reaching the entrance when the girls got back on the rink, and they agreed to fifteen more minutes of skating and then you would leave. They were easy to convince with the promise of pizza. 

You and Marcus stumbled back outside of the rink and to the benches to take off the skates. As you did, you whispered to Marcus about your plan. 

“We should get them lots of pizza and soda so that they have a sugar and carb crash and fall asleep watching whatever movie they choose and then while they do that, we can have sex, what do you think?” 

“I think that’s a perfect plan, sweetheart, with maybe one tiny problem. Mmm, two tiny problems,” Marcus told you and you frowned. 

“Do tell.” 

“One, we might be too sore to have sex by then.” 

“Hmph.” 

“And two, what’s gonna keep us from falling asleep after we eat pizza?” 

“Damn, those are problems,” you fell silent as you wracked your brain for solutions. Then your face lit up, “I’ve got it.” 

“Yeah?”     “Yeah. We take a hot shower so we don’t get sore, and we have sex before we eat and then we can nap all we want!”

Marcus grinned, you were so cute and hot when you had good ideas, “Honey, you are a genius.” 

He leaned in for a kiss and you let him. It lasted longer than it probably should have in public, but by the time Missy and Rosa found you, you were totally PDA free and proper. Anything to avoid more mocking from 13 year olds.

🏔🏔🏔

[jlalafics]

Rent Control-Part Two

Happy Friday y’all! Just leaving this here...also, it gets slightly steamy...

If you haven’t read Part One, here’s the link.

Summary: Katniss Everdeen has found the perfect home in San Francisco—great neighborhood, an easy commute and, best of all, it’s rent controlled. There’s only one problem; the landlord will only rent to a married couple.

Enter Peeta Mellark.

_______

Rent Control

Part Two

It was stupid that they didn’t think about this earlier.

Katniss and Peeta stood in the bedroom, eyes on the mattress in front of them. It was covered with a plush comforter—soft blue with grey tones—purchased by Katniss in all her excitement. The dresser adjacent to it was whitewood and atop was a flat screen television, brought from Peeta’s former apartment.

“Why did we never talk about sleeping arrangements?” she asked.

“Maybe because we’ve been so busy concocting a fake marriage that it slipped our minds?” Peeta responded.

“There’s always the couch,” Katniss said. “I can bring my blankets there.”

“No, I can sleep on the couch,” Peeta told her. “Only…”

She turned to him. “Only what?”

“Do you have a couch?” he asked. “Cinna is taking ours.”

“Shit!” Katniss smacked her palm to her forehead. “My couch didn’t belong to me…it was part of my apartment. Just another thing that we forgot.” She crawled onto the bed and laid back. “Let’s get a sofa next Saturday. We’ll rent a van and go to IKEA.”

“And, until then?” Peeta questioned from where he stood in front of her.

“The bed is big enough,” she told him. “If you promise to not sleep naked, fart, or snore—you can just sleep here. It’s not a big deal. I used to share a bed with my little sister, Prim.”

“Yeah…Prim doesn’t get morning erections.” Peeta scooted himself into bed and laid back next to her. “But damn, this is comfortable.” Their eyes met and he flicked her chin. “Are you sure? I can sleep on the floor.”

“No, we’re a team now.” Katniss twisted to meet his eyes. “We have to take care of each other as all fake couples do. Also, beautiful as this place is, sleeping on the floor sucks.”

“Okay, as long as you’re not weirded out,” he relented. “So, out of curiosity and because I should probably know this, why did you come to San Francisco?”

“Don’t laugh at me,” Katniss warned. “I followed a boy here. He went to San Francisco State while I went to University of San Francisco. I thought I was in love and, for a while, so did he.”

“USF, huh?” Peeta mused, his eyes on her laid out form. “Then, what happened?”

“Gale realized that there was more out there than the girlfriend that followed him all the way from their little Connecticut town. He told me he needed to find himself…aka date other girls.”

“Was this recent?” Peeta asked.

“No. That was years ago during my Freshmen year.” She sighed; it had been a long time since she thought of Gale. “Thank goodness there are so many crevices in this city to avoid your ex in.” Her eyes met his and Katniss smiled ruefully. “And, what’s your story?”

“My family owns a pretty prominent bakery in D.C., and I wanted to expand the business here,” Peeta explained. “I have a business degree from State and I’m still trying to convince my mother that opening a Mellark Bakery in San Francisco will be profitable.”

“Any nightmare exes that I should know about?” she questioned.

“I dated Delly,” he said.

“Delly from the bagel shop down the block from Johanna’s?” Katniss frowned. “Their bagels are shit! I don’t know if I’m more bothered by you dating her or by the bagels.”

Peeta guffawed. “Why would you be bothered?”

“I literally got the runs from there and Delly was not very nice when I told her about my bagel poisoning.” She grimaced, remembering her frequent trips to her not-so-clean commode. “I’m only telling you this because every husband should know about his wife’s one-time food poisoning.”

“Yeah, I think she was very insecure about you,” he explained. “You know Delly didn’t get that job at Johanna’s and then you swooped in. Me and you were…are pretty tight and she didn’t appreciate me giving you coffee for free.”

“I’m guessing that she thought ‘coffee’ was code for your penis,” Katniss said. “Can’t imagine what she thought cream was code for.”

Peeta snorted. “That’s been over for a long time. However, I’d avoid the bagel place now that we’re ‘united’ as man and wife.”

++++++

It had been a long time since Katniss had slept so comfortably.

The morning light was still low, just barely shining threw the bamboo curtains, and the room was still comfortably warm. In her last apartment, her nights were usually stuffy and warm while her mornings were frigidly cold.

Here in her new apartment, Katniss felt like the Goldilocks of San Francisco—this place was just right.

There was a shift and her gaze went to Sleeping Handsome, peacefully dozing next to her. Peeta shifted, an arm going over his eyes, and her own wandering eyes went to the small expanse of skin that had been exposed in his stretch.

Right above his belly button and just above his hips was smooth skin except for one bit—the happy trail leading down…

This arrangement was going to be harder than she thought.

It had also been way too long since anyone, including herself, had touched her lady bits.

Katniss, against her better judgement, lifted the comforter for a quick glance. “Huh.”

True to his word, Peeta did indeed have morning erections.

“Keep looking at it and I’ll have to charge you.” Her eyes met his sleepy smirk. “Good morning, wife.”

“Good morning…you,” she managed to stammer. “Just wanted to see if you were just bluffing about the morning wood.”

“Nope,” he responded. “Just a little factoid; it’s a bitch to pee with.”

Katniss rolled her eyes. “You’re making my mouth water.”

Peeta sat up and growled. “It likes your voice.”

She chuckled and ruffled his already mussed locks. “I’ll turn around so you can go to the bathroom first.” There was a shuffle and quick steps heading to the bathroom. Katniss turned back around when she heard the bathroom door close. “Any plans for today?”

“I took two days off for the move so pretty much opening up the rest of the boxes,” Peeta called out from behind the door. “Can’t wait to get all my baking stuff into the kitchen.”

“Does this mean that I can expect breakfast pastries every day?” she asked.

“Maybe if you’re a good girl,” he told her.

Katniss laughed. “Ohh…kinky.”

Peeta suddenly let out a shout. “Damnit!”

“What happened?”

“I told you,” he replied. “It likes you.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she might be getting fond of it herself.

++++++

“So, this is your sister?” Peeta stared at the teenager with the sunny hair and even sunnier smile, hugging a newly graduated Katniss in the photo. “You two look like you’re close.”

“Yes.” Katniss placed the freshly cleaned frame to the side before reaching into the box for another framed photo. “These are my parents when they first met in the 70s.”

She handed the frame to Peeta, who sat next to her on their newly placed living room rug.

“Your dad had a killer moustache…and those bell-bottoms!” He peered at the photo before looking to her. “You look a lot like your mom, except for the coloring.”

“I have that crochet halter top that she’s wearing,” she told him. “It’s kind of how I got into fashion. My mom kept all these great pieces from when she was a teenager. I used to rework them for me to wear. That halter I kept the same because it was the top that she wore when she met my dad.”

Peeta smiled, his blue eyes warm.

“The more I hear about your life, the more fascinated I am with you,” he said. “Why haven’t we really talked the whole time we’ve known each other?”

Katniss shrugged. “We’ve been so busy trying to survive that I guess we just never thought to.” She went back to organizing her photos. “I like getting to know these little bits of you.” Her hands reached for the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon to her side. “I like that you spent a whole summer with your dad trying to make the perfect scrambled eggs…and that you go to the deli to get your bacon.” Then, her gaze went to the beautiful watercolor hanging on the wall adjacent to the fireplace. “I like that you learned to paint to impress a girl but ended up just loving to paint.”

“Just one of my many quirks.” Peeta stood up, taking her frames, and going to the mantle to place them. “I have a box with some photos of my family, too.” He paused for a moment. “My mom and I…well, we’re not exactly as close as you are with your parents.”

She joined him at the mantle. “Why not?”

He placed the photo of her parents on the mantle distractedly, his gaze somewhere else.

“I’ve always been trying to prove myself to her,” Peeta explained. “I’m not the smart one. That title belongs to my oldest brother, Bran and I’m not as successful as my lawyer brother, Alex. I’m just…me—and that doesn’t seem to be good enough for her.”

Her hand reached for his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “You, Peeta Mellark, are the good one.” He turned to her. “You offer free coffees to a girl because you know she can barely afford bread and you pretend to be her husband so she won’t sleep on the streets. Those are all the qualities of a good heart…and a good husband, even if it’s not real. You’ve saved me in so many ways.”

Suddenly, Katniss found herself in his arms.

Peeta pressed his nose into her hair. “Thank you, Katniss.” He took a deep breath and she shivered at the sensation. “You saved me, too.”

“How exactly did I do that?”

Peeta sighed into her skin. “I’m not sure yet…but I can’t wait to find out.”

++++++

“Katniss! We have to get going!” Peeta buttoned his lightweight flannel before suddenly stopping halfway up. It was a bit warm for a San Francisco afternoon which was fortunate for this welcome party, but annoying on the clothing front. “Do you think I should button this?”

“No, just leave it open,” Katniss replied as she entered the room. “I love the V-necks on guys nowadays. The manbun however—what?”

“You’re wearing that top?” he managed to sputter.

Katniss twirled, allowing him to enjoy the sexiness of the top on his pseudo-wife. The burnt-orange linen skirt she wore danced around her ankles, and on her feet were a pair of camel-colored sandals.

“We were talking about it and how it really got me into fashion, so I pulled it out of my closet,” she replied. Katniss caught his wide eyes and her smile fell from her lips. “What?”

“It’s just…wow.” Peeta circled her closely, taking in the cream crochet top that covered everything that needed to be covered quite strategically. “You just look beautiful. Shit—I really can’t stop looking at what that top is covering! I’m really sorry I’m such a perv—”

Katniss chuckled. “No, this top is just made to be looked at. How do you think my mom got my dad?” She grinned wickedly. “Thank goodness for the NuBra…because my mom didn’t wear anything under this—”

“Way too much information on my fake mother-in-law,” he told her. “And what the hell is a NuBra?”

“It’s basically like bra cups with some stick.” Katniss held her hand up like cups to demonstrate. “And you’d just lean over—”

Peeta put his palm up. “Okay, stop. I’ll never be able walk down there comfortably.” He let out a breath. “Just give me a minute.”

“It’s not horrible for us to look like we’re sexually into each other,” she informed him carefully. “It’s human nature to be attracted…to feel heat when people are so close together. Trust me—we’re going to have a lot of these moments.”

His hand went to her shoulder and a shock of electricity rushed through her.

Then, she felt that telltale twist in her pelvis and her knees suddenly felt weak.

Her throat felt dry. “Peeta…” Her voice came out low, that last syllable trembling as it escaped her lips.

His mouth suddenly replaced that spot on her shoulder, that roughness of his lips exciting her to the tips of her toes. “Katniss, you’re making this really hard on me.”

She closed her eyes. “I’m trying not to.”

Fingers played with the strings tied at the nape of her neck.

Just one tug and it would all fall down…

There was a knock on the door.

“Katniss! Peeta!” It was Effie. “We’re just about ready. Come down soon!”

It was Peeta who found his voice first. “We’ll be right down!” His eyes went to Katniss’. “This isn’t over.”

She found a smirk rising on her lips.

“God, I hope not.”

++++++

They stepped into the backyard and Peeta’s hand reached to clasp hers. “Whoa.”

“It’s like we’re in a secret garden!” Katniss practically squealed as they walked under the flowered archway. The scent of roses immediately danced on her nostrils. “This is gorgeous.”

“I’m glad you like it.” They turned and found a dark-haired man with tortoise-shell glasses at the grill. He walked towards them and Katniss couldn’t help but admire his elegant gait. “I’m Beetee Latier. I tend to this garden and I also live right above you.”

Peeta reached to shake his hand. “I’m Peeta Mellark and this is my wife, Katniss.”

Beetee looked to her, a small smile on his lips. “Katniss…interesting name.”

“You know your plants, obviously.” She turned to Peeta. “In case you forgot, my name comes from an edible plant in wetlands.”

“So, I can eat you,” he responded bluntly.

Katniss had the good grace to blush.

“Ah, young love,” Beetee interrupted with a light laugh. “I’ve known Effie and Haymitch even before they bought this building and you both remind me of them—spunky.”

“And we love spunk.” Haymitch walked over, meat patties on a plate. “Here you go.” He handed them to Beetee. “I see you’ve met our resident genius horticulturist. Don’t let his soft-spoken nature fool you. He’s done a lot for the city of San Francisco.”

Katniss looked to him in interest. “Really?”

“Nothing illegal and also I’m not at liberty to say. What Haymitch didn’t mention is that I’m retired now,” Beetee added, taking the plate and placing some of the patties on the grill.

Haymitch grinned. “Yes. Now, he sings Motown to the flowers to make them grow.”

“Hello, hello!” Effie rushed over to them giving them each a kiss on the cheek. “Finnick, Annie, and Jack are on their way down. Annie’s just walking a little slower these days.” She looked to Katniss and Peeta. “They’re having twins.”

“Sorry we’re late!” A handsome man with a shock of red hair entered the archway, a bowl in one hand and a dark-haired toddler under his opposite arm. “Here’s some potato salad, Effie.” Their landlord rushed over, taking the bowl. The man then went over to Katniss. “Here’s Jack.”

He held out the little one and instinctively Katniss took him into her arms.

The man chuckled. “I can’t believe you actually fell for that. Now he’ll never let you go,” he told her. “I’m Finnick Odair and the craziness in your arms is Jack.”

“Katniss…Mellark.” She nodded over at Peeta. “Peeta, my husband.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Peeta said, shaking Finnick’s hand and waving at Jack, who had now settled in Katniss’ arms, playing with the delicate design of her top. “Careful with that, Jack. One tug and that thing will dissolve into dust.”

“So, you’ve had experience with that top,” a light voice said. A pretty brunette in a cerulean maternity dress waddled over, a bright smile on her face. “I’m Annie Odair—and this is my huge stomach.”

Jack pointed at his mother’s tummy. “Twinsies.”

Finnick went to his wife, helping her into a lawn chair.

“Careful, love. One move and you might jostle them out.”

“Sometimes, I wonder how they even happened,” Annie groaned before looking to Effie.

The older woman was suddenly very interested in the buffet setup at the far end of the yard.

“What did Effie do?” Katniss asked as she settled into the seat next to Annie, Jack in her lap.

“We moved in seven months ago,” Annie explained. “Effie offered to watch Jack so we could unpack…and christen the apartment.” She waved her hand over her belly. “And, here we are.”

++++++

“So, Effie and Haymitch told us how you got engaged,” Finnick said, a sleeping Jack in his arms. “How did you guys meet?”

It was later in the day and they had just finished eating. Beetee was a whiz at the grill, explaining that he once worked at a Mel’s Drive-In. Annie, who owned her own restaurant, had been the one to make the potato salad, which was delicious, and Katniss had her fill. Effie and Haymitch were currently preparing dessert—homemade sorbet with assorted fruits.

“Well, I work at a boutique nearby and Peeta works at the coffee shop next door,” Katniss said. She turned to Peeta. “But for some reason, I can’t recall…”

Peeta grinned at her. “She was so distracted since she was training. I just kind of waltzed into her life,” he told her, taking her hand. “I do remember the first time I saw her.”

Katniss shifted in her seat. “You do?”

“Of course. How could I not remember the day my world turned right side up?” he replied, not quite meeting her eyes. Peeta turned back to their neighbors. “I was heading to my shift and my eyes caught the display window of her store…and there she was. Katniss was, of course, distracted because she was changing the mannequin into these really wide pants—”

“Gauchos,” Katniss supplied. “My first window display.”

That was nearly two years ago—had it been that long?

“Oh right—and I just thought to myself that if I could get this beautiful girl to just look at me—maybe even smile at me—then life would be nothing less than perfect,” he told them.

Katniss remembered that day; she had been setting up the display when the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood up. Her eyes went to the street only to find no one, just the backside of a blond heading into the coffee shop next door. She brushed it off, thinking that she was nervous about what Johanna would think.

Later that night, Katniss headed into the coffee shop for her 15-minute break. Peeta had been at the counter to take her order.

And, she remembered—that same electricity happened, her hairs stood on their ends at the sight of him.

“Thank you for telling me that,” she murmured, her eyes feeling misty.

Peeta blushed. “My pleasure.”

“I love that,” Annie said, her green eyes glazed at the romantic tale. “It was meant to be.” She nodded at Finnick. “I met old what’s-his-face because he was one of my waiters.”

“I was a horrible one,” Finnick explained. “It was only because Annie as a chef is really scary…but sexy. I just got so nervous around her.”

“Finally, I had to fire him,” she told them.

“And, when she did, I asked her out.”

They all chuckled at Finnick’s words as Effie and Haymitch approached, trays on their hands.

“Everyone seems to be getting along,” Effie said as she placed dessert on the table in front of them. She looked between the group as Haymitch and Beetee settled into their own chairs. “I’m just so happy that we all found each other…that Katniss and Peeta have completed our little family.” Her eyes shone and Effie wiped her eyes hastily. “So, before Haymitch tells me to quit with the waterworks, I’m just going to say welcome home, Katniss and Peeta. We hope one day you’ll think of this place as your own and us as your family.”

++++++

“I feel like the shittiest person alive,” Katniss said, later that night. She shifted in bed, turning to Peeta. “Are we the worst?”

Peeta sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe? The thing is that I do like it here. I like everyone.”

“You know that Annie and Finnick offered their old couch to us?” she told him. “They’re getting a sectional so that Jack and the twins will have somewhere to lounge around. Finnick even offered to help you bring it down here. Beetee said that he’ll help when the cable-and-internet guy comes over next week.” Her head went to his chest. “I like them, too.”

He put an arm around her, pulling her close. “Worst of all, lying to Effie and Haymitch…”

“They’re like our cool Aunt and Uncle,” she added. “Maybe we should move. I can beg Johanna to let me stay at her house—”

“No,” Peeta interrupted. He suddenly looked to her; his expression anxious. “Katniss, everything I said out there…it was real.”

“What do you mean?”

He reached, brushing a tendril of her hair away to tuck it behind her ear. The sudden gesture was so familiar yet so tender.

“Seeing you look at me—even smile at me that first time we met—it made me feel like life was nothing less than perfect,” he told her thickly. “And, it’s been that way ever since. Life is perfect when you’re with me, Katniss.”

Her hand found his cheek, her thumb grazing the stubble on his chin. He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of her caress.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Peeta shrugged. “I was afraid. Afraid you would reject me…afraid to lose your friendship. I would have rather had you as a friend than not have you at all.”

Katniss let out a breath. “Peeta, why don’t we just admit that there is something here?”

His lips found home against her temple. “Because we don’t want to break…us.”

“We should give us a chance,” she admitted quietly.

Pushing up on his elbow, Peeta looked down at her, his eyes glowing in the dim light of the room. He leaned forward before suddenly stopping and chuckling softly.

“What?”

“I was just thinking about that crochet top,” he told her.

Katniss raised her a brow. “What about it?”

“Just wondering if I’ll get a chance to see it on you without that damn NuBra.”

She couldn’t help but laugh.

“Of course! Now, get over here!”

Without another word, Katniss pulled him down so their lips could finally meet.

 End of Part Two

  So, this seems pretty fast…but this was almost two years in the making for them.

Not like I’m going to make this easy on them, though.

Just an FYI—the boutique is based on one that I worked at many years ago. I loved the store and the product, but I hated the whole cutthroat aspect of trying to earn commission.

Mel’s Drive-In is a diner created in San Francisco that was originally a car hop. It’s mostly associated with the movie American Graffiti. Or, if you love older movies as I do, Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn visit one in Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner.

Anyway, I digress.

I’m not sure, but there might be a small time jump.

Also, I bet you’re wondering how this will end. I have three scenarios in my head and I’m not quite sure which it will be.

Till I decide, LaLa

P.S. They did end up “christening” the apartment.

[let-it-raines]

Not Your (soul)Mate {9/15}

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused.

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate.

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

Rating: Mature

A/n: Hello, all! We are back to our original artwork for the story (which I still absolutely love), but there will be two more fantastic pic sets by the wonderful @captainsjedi before the story is over! It’s the coolest thing getting to see this story through her eyes! 💙

So there was a kiss last chapter? How do you think this chapter will go? Thanks for reading! You guys are the best! 😊

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @initiala @snowbellewells @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @emmas-storybook @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @xellewoods @thejollyroger-writer @galaxyzxstark @cssns

-/-

“What are you doing?”

“Working.”

“On what?”

“The same thing that I do every day. My bloody job.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Ariel breathes out on a frustrated sigh, holding her hands up as she plops herself down on the corner of his desk, her stomach coming into view before anything else. He looks at her stomach far too much, but it always seems to be what she puts in his eye line. “Who peed in your Cheerios this morning?”

“That’s a disgusting phrase,” he groans, placing his pen in its spot in the holder before leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes and rubbing his hands over his face to work out some of the heaviness that he feels there, that he feels all over. A spark flies between his fingertips and his beard, and he nearly yells out in frustration. But that would be too much, too dramatic, and he doesn’t want to give Ariel the satisfaction. “Who even came up with that?”

“Whatever cereal company it is that competes with Cheerios. They’re trying to taint the name.”

“Sounds like a brilliant plan.”

“Mhm,” she hums, reaching forward and tapping his shoulder until he opens his eyes and his hands fall down to his thighs. “Seriously, though. You okay? You’ve been even more grumpy than usual.”

Flashing her a smile, one that he knows is insincere and that she will too, he tries to be “less grumpy.” He personally doesn’t think that he’s grumpy. He thinks that the sun is basically shining out of his ass right now.

“How would you like me to be more pleasant, A? What can I do for you?”

Her right brow raises at the same time that her shoulder does, a pretty uncaring half shrug. “Maybe lose the creepy fake smile. It makes you look smug.” He nods his head and lets his lips fall, raising a leg to cross it over his knee under his desk. “And I want you to take me out to lunch today.”

“There it is,” he laughs, this one genuine as his eyes shift to the clock on his wall and the hand indicating that it’s a little before one. “Shall we go to your husband’s restaurant down the street or do you have somewhere else in mind? I’ll let the lady pick.”

“And they say chivalry is dead.” She slowly stands from the desk, smoothing out her kelly green pants and her blouse. “I want to go to that deli with the good sandwiches. You know the one that makes that - ”

“I know the one.”

He stands from his chair, adjusting his own suit pants, and lets Ariel hook her arm into his as he guides her out of the office, shouting down the hallway to tell Liam that he’ll be back in an hour, maybe an hour and a half only for Ariel to shout that they’ll be gone for at least two hours. That is definitely not happening when he got an unexpected redesign job this morning, but he can already see Ariel trying to weasel her way into it as they walk two blocks over to Delano’s Kitchen. It’s usually pretty quiet there, not too much foot traffic moving through the small deli, so he and Ariel buy their meals and settle down outside under the yellow and white striped umbrellas. Storybrooke can be such an idyllic little town sometimes with its bright colors and preppy storefronts, and it’s usually a pleasant place to be, especially outside in the summers when the temperature is just right.

Today is one of those days, but he’s having a bit of trouble focusing on the gentle breeze that is blowing through his hair or the sunshine that’s being blocked by the shades of his sunglasses. If he’s honest, he’s mostly having issues focusing on what Ariel is saying, which is something he’s most definitely not proud of. She wanted to go to lunch with him today, wanted for them to spend some time together, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t listen to her and engage in conversation with her.

But with every sip of water that passes through his lips he can feel Emma’s mouth on his, warm and pliant lips harshly devouring his and making the flesh on his arms and the back of his neck break out into hives. He’s wondered how she would kiss for months now, has thought about it whenever he thinks about her, but absolutely nothing could have prepared him for the actuality of it all. It was...bloody magnificent. He’s kissed many a woman in his time, had many very solid make out sessions in his thirty-five years, but this was decidedly different.

And a hell of a lot better.

God, she’s just...she’s amazing. She made him feel alive, like the fireworks that were exploding around them two weeks ago were exploding across his skin and down his spine to his groin instead of in the air in the Nolan’s backyard. But then she’d stepped away, said it was a one-time thing, and climbed out of the treehouse.

He kissed his soulmate for the first time in a six-year-old’s treehouse with fireworks exploding around them.

What the hell is his life?

He’d kissed Emma, or Emma kissed him really, and with the feel of her lips still on his and her scent mixing in with his clothes, he watched her run across the yard and into the house away from where everyone was standing on the balcony watching David light the fireworks with help from Robin. Emma told him to wait five minutes before following her, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t go anywhere. He couldn’t breathe.

For every inkling of affection and feelings that he’s developed for Emma since they met, that was the first time that he was sure of it all. He was sure that they could be something, that they could have something real and true. It was the first time that he thought that he could most definitely move on from Milah, from his last love. He’s mourned her and loved her for years, and he never thought he could love someone again. He doesn’t love Emma, but the beginnings are there.

He could love her.

He wants to. That’s thinking much too far ahead, but he tends to do that.

They match up well. The universe tells them so, but he doesn’t care about any of that stuff. Emma says she doesn’t care, but she very obviously cares too much. She cares enough to defy whoever it is that makes the world this way, but there’s no way that she can deny the very real something between them.

And not the fact that they both want to fuck each other the more they talk to each other.

But it’s Emma. He doesn’t know how she’s been hurt, but he knows that she has. Something, more likely someone, has scarred her pretty badly, and that’s why she ran away from him after kissing him. She made the first move and obviously got spooked during it. He has this small, inane hope that she was spooked because she’s scared of the possibilities, of the future, but he doesn’t know.

He can’t know.

It’s not like he’s spoken to her since.

Or texted her. Or written her a note.

They’ve had absolutely zero communication despite him seeing her around town at least ten times in the past fourteen days.

Despite him seeing her across the street at Mr. French’s bakery right now.

This town needs to be much larger. And preferably soon.

She’s dressed in jeans and a simple white button down with sleeves rolled to her elbows, her hair pulled up in a ponytail, and her badge clipped on her belt loops like it always is. David is with her, the two of them standing together in front of the counter, and he has to keep from staring at her for too long before she notices. Or even worse, before Ariel notices.

The absolute last thing he wants is for Ariel to know that he is undeniably pining over Emma Swan. The woman is all about love and pushing him into love, and he doesn’t need the extra push and encouragement from somewhere else right now.

Damn, he wishes he could talk to Emma right now about their kiss and their....friendship.

It’s a friendship, right? It has to be.

“Can I have some of your cantaloupe?” Ariel asks even as her fork spears one and she’s taking it off of his plate.

“Why do you even ask?” he chuckles, turning his attention away from Emma and from David to look at Ariel. “I mean, you know I’m not going to say no, and it’s not as if you waited for my answer anyways.”

She pops the fruit into her mouth as her shoulders shrug. “It’s the polite thing to do. Eric is always complaining about how I steal food from him, but he does the same thing to me.”

“Liam does that. He just leans over and takes food away. It’s usually the food I’m saving for last too.”

“That’s the actual worst. You don’t mess with someone’s food.” He raises a brow at that, not even needing to really respond with words. Ariel smiles and shrugs again. “I’m pregnant.”

“Is that going to be your excuse until you have the baby?”

“Yep. And afterward, it’s going to be that I just had a baby. And then later it’s going to be that I have a baby at home who exhausts me. So you pretty much have to give me all of your food forever now.”

He hums, grabbing a grape. “This will be the last time I take you out to eat then.”

“No part of that is true. I - oh look, there’s Emma and David. Emma,” Ariel shouts. He sinks down in his chair, wishing that he could disappear right now. Why did he not think of this earlier? Of course Ariel is going to call them over.

David quickly jogs across the street, but he watches as Emma debates it, looking around them and digging into her bag to pull out a cookie before she slowly walks toward them, pretty much stuffing the cookie in her mouth all at once.

“Hey,” David says when he gets to their table, leaning against the adjacent table while Emma does the same, her eyes glancing anyone but to his before she puts on a pair of sunglasses, “how are the two of you?”

“Great. Killian’s buying me lunch.”

“Not that Ariel’s given me much of a choice.”

“It’s the least I can do for all of the hard work that I do for you.”

“Do you mean your job?”

“Hush.” Ariel reaches over to grab some more of his fruit, and he takes a moment to see if Emma is still turned away from him. Her presence is making his body heat and his heart ache. He wants to talk to her. Or text her or leave a bloody message on a napkin again to ask why the hell she kissed him and then ran away. “Emma, do you want to come by on Saturday to catch up on Billion Dollar Wreck? Eric is itching to watch, and I told him we had to wait for you.”

“I bloody love that show,” he blurts out, unable to stop himself. Three heads turn toward him, and he makes an effort to keep his lips straight as he looks at Ariel.

“Oh that’s right,” Ariel sighs, motioning between the two of them, “you’re a History Channel buff too. Emma and I love it. Killian, you should come over on Saturday.”

“No,” Emma says. “I mean, I don’t think I can come over on Saturday.”

“What other plans do you have?”

“She doesn’t have any,” David fills in only for Emma to punch his bicep. It should sting because she’s trying to stay away from him, but he honestly finds it amusing. “She was just talking about how she was going to spend all of Saturday on her couch in her pajamas.”

“Those are plans.”

“Oh come on,” Ariel pleads, “it’ll be so much fun. You can wear your pajamas. I’ll get snacks, and it’ll be just like at home except you get to spend time with me.”

Emma groans, the sound probably only audible to him, and he realizes that her words haven’t really affected him today. She hasn’t spoken much, but there’s only been the slightest stirring. That’s...odd. It’s odd, but he’s not going to complain about it.

“Fine but next weekend you’re going to let me spend the weekend holed up alone in the apartment where no one can bother me.”

“You have a roommate.”

“She spends her weekends at Will’s most of the time.”

“Perfect.” Ariel claps her hands. “You guys can come over around noon. I’ll get Eric to make lunch.”

“I think that sounds like a great idea, don’t you, Emma?”

She finally looks at him, and even though he can’t see her eyes, he knows that they’re shooting daggers at him. The scowl that’s painted on her lips helps him realize that. Maybe Ariel calling them over here isn’t the worst thing in the world even if Saturday is most likely going to be a disaster.

“It sounds like it’s going to be the best day of my life,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm before she angles her body away from him. “A, I’ll call you later, okay? David and I have to get back to work. Make sure Killian buys you some kind of dessert too. I think you deserve it for having to work with him all day.”

A chill runs down his spine, slowly spreading over his body, but mostly he smiles. At least she doesn’t seem to totally hate him. But it wouldn’t be a complete surprise to him if she didn’t show up on Saturday. It would actually be what he expects.

“I do enjoy sweet things, darling,” he tells Emma, punctuating his words with a flick of his tongue across his bottom lip that has her cheeks flushing red.

Emma nods her head and walks away, her ass looking absolutely fantastic in her jeans, while David says more polite goodbyes. He probably could have been nicer, teased her less, but he seems to not be able to help himself when it comes to Emma. Maybe it’s a side effect of their...predicament. Maybe it’s simply what she brings out in him.

-/-

“Hey, Max,” he laughs when he opens the front door of Ariel and Eric’s house Saturday morning, stepping into their entryway and rubbing his hand behind the thick hair at Max’s ears. “Hey, boy. Oh I’ve missed you. Do you want a cracker? I bet I can sneak a cracker out of your mummy’s pantry.”

“I heard that,” Eric yells, and Killian glances up to see him rounding the corner of the living room. He’s still dressed in his pajamas, and that makes Killian feel a little better about only wearing his gray joggers and a t-shirt from last year’s summer regatta. “Just let yourself in why don’t you.”

“I mean, you did leave the door unlocked.”

“That’s beside the point.”

He rolls his eyes a bit before stepping forward and patting Eric’s back in greeting so that he can bypass him to head into the kitchen to get Max his crackers. It’s the oddest thing, but he’s obsessed with saltines, and if Kilian has to bribe the dog to get him to like him, he has no qualms about that.

“Where’s Ariel?” he questions, opening their pantry and scanning for the food.

“In the shower. She didn’t feel great this morning, so she slept in a bit.”

“Is she okay? Do we need to cancel today?”

“She’s okay. And if we cancel, she’ll absolutely have my head. She’s been talking about you guys coming over for days.” He finds the crackers in the cabinet and opens up a plastic sleeve before grabbing two and turning around to hand them to an eagerly awaiting Max, his pink tongue hanging out of his mouth. “And I keep having to run to the store to get food since she’s constantly changing her mind on that.”

“So what are we eating?”

“Ariel decided on pizza, but not the kind we can get delivered. Homemade individual ones. It’s quite the show for us to be sitting around in our sweats.”

“Pizza is great, babe,” Ariel sighs as she walks into the room in a pair of leggings and sweater with a towel wrapped around her hair. “And my taste buds are changing because of your demon child. The least you can do is spend all of our savings on food.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Eric smiles, reaching his arm out to Ariel to wrap it around her shoulder and pull her into his side so that he can kiss her temple and whisper something in her ear that makes her giggle. A flash of jealousy runs through him at how happy they are, at how much goodness they have in their life with each other, but he has to push that down. He absolutely cannot let himself think that way. That’s how he’ll make himself miserable. “I’m excited for us to eat pizza and sit on our asses all day.”

“That’s the best way to spend a Saturday.”

“Who’s running the restaurant, Eric?”

“Oh no one. I figured people could go in and simply eat all of the fish raw.”

“So Smee?”

“Smee.” Eric nods.

The three of them talk a little bit more, mostly about this year’s regatta and beach festival over Labor Day weekend, before moving into the living room and settling down after closing the curtains so that the usually light room is covered in darkness. He grabs a blanket from the basket and settles down on their recliner while Ariel and Eric lounge on the couch. He can’t help himself from wondering if Emma is actually going to show up, but he’s not about to ask about it. He could tell that Ariel noticed...something between he and Emma after their little run in at lunch. She’s far too perceptive of him, and he doesn’t want to let her onto anything. He may have no clue what exactly is happening with he and Emma, but he does know that she doesn’t want anyone to know that they’re soulmates. She’d likely be pissed at him if he were to let that secret spill.

So he can’t ask if Emma is still coming today. He has to act normally.

Which definitely doesn’t happen when he hears the click of the front door as it opens and Emma steps inside in what looks like her running gear with her hair tucked in a ponytail under her cap and legs on display in her black shorts and loose white tank top with a neon yellow sports bra underneath.

Bloody hell.

She’s trying to kill him. And somehow he knows that she’s doing it on purpose since she’s the one who wanted to wear pajamas and have un-brushed hair and simply do nothing today. And yet she’s apparently decided to go out for a run and wear...that.

What in the world goes through her mind? He’d love to know. He really would.

God, her legs.

“Sorry I’m late,” she starts, reaching down to pet Max’s ears before she’s in the living room and leaning over the couch to kiss Eric’s cheek and hug Ariel’s neck, giving him a slight wave. “I slept a little too late and then decided I wanted to go for a run since I’m going to be sitting on my ass all day. How many episodes did you guys watch without me?”

“None. We waited on you.”

“Oh perfect. What are we eating? I’m starving.”

“We’re making pizzas.”

“Oh my God,” she groans, falling over the loveseat and propping her legs up over the arm while he wishes for all of the world that she would stop talking. He’s never going to be able to move this blanket off of his lap. Her legs are so damn long. “I love homemade pizzas. If I ever get a house, I’m buying one of those pizza ovens. I just have to, because our apartment fire escape definitely can’t hold a pizza oven.”

“We should get one of those,” Ariel suggests to Eric.

“We have one at the restaurant.”

“But that’s not the same as having it here. You don’t let me cook in the restaurant kitchen.”

“You once lost your hairband in the kitchen, and we had to shut down the kitchen until we found it in the trash.”

“That was an accident.”

“There are health codes, A.”

“Whatever.”

“So are we going to cook the pizza now?” Emma asks, breaking Ariel and Eric out of their conversation. “That way we can eat while we watch. Don’t you think that’s a great idea, Killian?”

He grits his teeth and tries to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down as the base of his spine tingles a bit. She’s talking quite a lot today, and like the outfit, he definitely thinks it’s on purpose. He’d really rather like for the woman to make up her mind on whether she wants to tease him or kiss him and then run away because he has absolutely no idea what to think.

“That’s a grand idea, Swan.”

So they make their pizzas, the four of them moving around the kitchen, and he swears that Emma never stops talking. She and Ariel get into some kind of deep discussion about the Outlander book series, and while he’s read most of them, he keeps his mouth closed over everything as he kneads the dough for his, his hands covered in flour that’s found its way to the hem of his shirt.

He should have thought through the repercussions of wearing gray joggers around Emma.

When Ariel and Eric put their pizzas in the oven, only two fitting at a time, they leave the room to sit back down on the couches, leaving he and Emma to themselves. She’s currently on the tips of her toes trying to reach a spice from the top of the cabinet, and he takes the opportunity to cage her in, getting close enough that his chest brushes into her back but not too close so as to make her uncomfortable as he whispers in her ear.

“You know, darling, I find that women who run away after kissing me don’t tend to spend the next time they see trying to arouse me.”

“Lots of women run after you kiss them then?”

“Just the one.”

He feels her breath hitch and her shoulders tense, and he smirks into her ear, taking the risk of rubbing his beard gently into her as his hand travels up her arm. He can small sweat on her skin but also her shampoo and the faintest whiff of the pizza they’re making, and all he wants his to brush his lips under the shell of her ear so that he can hear the sound that he’s sure that it would elicit. But he doesn’t. He can’t. So he reaches his hand up a little further to grab the garlic seasoning she’s reaching for and places it on the counter.

“But I have a feeling that she’d like to do it again,” he tacks on before backing away from her.

“You wish.”

“I do.”

As fun as it is teasing her, he cannot stand that close to her again without doing something, so he quickly leaves the room, moving to the guest bathroom to splash his face with water and take a breather. He can finish making his pizza later, but he needs to calm down. And he refuses to wank another one out in this household, so he’s not going to. But seriously, what was he thinking when it came to his choice of pants?

“You okay?” Ariel asks when he exits the bathroom.

“Just dandy.”

From then on, he decides to stop taking the high road. If Emma’s going to torture him, he can do the same to her. He shouldn’t be the one taking the high road anyways. They’re regressing to how they were when they went out on the boat, and while it’s not what he wants, it’s where they are.

He is too old to be playing games, but life keeps throwing him new decks of cards.

Everyone is silent as the show starts, only the sound of the television and Max scratching his stomach filling the room, but he prefers it enough so that he can have a chance to calm himself down more while they eat. The pizza is delicious, and he idly wonders if he could get an oven on the deck of his apartment. Possibly. He’d have to check with his super. All is well throughout the first episode, but then during the second Emma and Eric start talking about the security system he’s having installed down at the restaurant. It’s a quiet murmuring, not really detracting from the show, but with the consistency of it, he can feel his erection beginning to grow at the sound of her voice in a way that it hasn’t since the first time that they met.

If his body could make up its mind on how it reacts to Emma, that would be great.

Fantastic. Now he sounds like that meme online.

And he sounds ancient saying it like that.

Killian: You have got to stop talking right now.

Emma: Why? Is your sail being raised?

He appreciates the pun, but he’s really not in the mood for it right now.

Killian: Yes.

Emma: Their bedroom is just down the hall. You’re familiar with it.

He glances over toward Emma, but she’s not even looking in his direction, her eyes still glued to the television screen.

Killian: Would you like to join me?

Emma: Like I said, you wish.

Killian: You literally have no idea.

Emma: Gross.

Killian: Oh come on, Swan. I know you find me charming.

Emma: Again. You wish. I’m just going to keep repeating that.

Emma: Why are they spending ten minutes writing a fake letter on this show? I know people wrote letters back in the day because they didn’t have anything else, but I feel like this is over the top.

Killian: It’s rather romantic to think about people writing letters to their loved ones who they may never see again.

Emma: Yeah, but they had to know that no one was going to see the letters.

Killian: But they said the words, love. They made sure there was nothing left unsaid. It’s closure, I think. And there’s also a beauty in putting your words to the page.

Emma: No one writes letters anymore, but you definitely could with the way you talk like an eighteenth century poet.

Killian: Maybe I’ll have to think on that.

Killian: They wrote letters in Harry Potter despite having actual magic.

Emma: You like Harry Potter?

Killian: I was a lanky British boy with dark hair and light eyes who wore glasses. He was basically my hero.

Emma: That’s adorable.

Emma: Do you still have those glasses?

Killian: The magic of contacts is better than the magic of the Elder wand.

Emma: That’s the nerdiest thing you’ve ever said.

Killian: But you understood the reference, didn’t you?

Emma: …

Emma: Yes. Harry Potter was pretty much my hero too. There’s not a lot of stories about orphans that end well.

He realizes what she’s just said, what she’s just revealed about herself even if he already knew that, but he knows not to push. This conversation is a rare pleasant one with her, and he’s not going to mess it up now. They get along when they text, sometimes even when they speak, and maybe this is simply going to be a rollercoaster of a relationship from now on.

Not that it’s a relationship romantically speaking. It’s simply a relationship as in they have one and can’t seem to get away from each other. Not a friendship, but maybe something close.

It doesn’t even matter.

Killian: Do you secretly have a wand and a robe in your bedroom?

Emma: Not that kind of wand.

He has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing, but it doesn’t work, his chuckles still ending up much louder than he anticipated. Ariel and Eric don’t notice, especially since they seem to still be much more wrapped up in the show than he is, and honestly, he’s fine with that. He’s terrified that if anything changes, if there’s the smallest shift, whatever little spell he and Emma are under right now will break and the pleasantries will stop.

No part of him wants them to stop.

And he’s going a bit crazy because he’s starting to think of other ideas for how he can keep getting to know Emma. Or at least, for her to get to know him.

Killian: Look who’s making jokes about the boudoir now.

Emma: Did you say that just to use the word “boudoir”?

Killian: You bet I did.

[theprodigypenguin]

I’m gonna get sappy here for a bit, so feel free to pass this post.

All day today my coworkers were talking about Valentine’s Day and their significant others, one of them talked about how she set up cute goodies for her husband and kids, another talked about making dinner and getting her boyfriend of 4 years a valentine’s gift after work, and the third one talked about spending a cute dinner with her boyfriend. That was all super fine, it was cute, they were all so excited that I got excited listening to them. They looked so happy that I was only happy for them, but then one of my coworkers looks at me and goes “so do you have a love interest in town, someone you like?”

For background, yeah, I do. There’s a guy who works in the same building that I like. We don’t exactly work together, because we work in two separate businesses that just happen to be located in the same place (they’re like a grocery store and we’re a deli/bakery that sells stuff in the front of the store). So he’s like a work crush, but I’ve liked him for MONTHS. I even bought him something for Christmas, and was bold enough to give it to him in person instead of shoving it in his cubby and running away like I wanted to. 

Clearly he appreciated it because the next day he gave me a Christmas gift too (one of two gifts I got aside from a Christmas care package I got from Weasel). It was an adorable little notebook that he bound BY HAND, the cover is real leather, and he made it THAT NIGHT. Like? Why is he so sweet? And I really like him, and sometimes I get the feeling he may like me back, but there’s so much wrong with me, emotionally and mentally, that I don’t know if I can properly understand other people’s opinions or feelings towards me.

People liking me is just... absurd to me, because it doesn’t make sense, because no one has ever liked me before, because clearly there’s something wrong with me, so what makes me at twenty-two so different from me at any other age? My romantic relationships in the past have been far and few between. I’ve had exactly one person I called my boyfriend, and I fucked that up because of how intense and fucked up my self image and insecurity was (I broke it off with him because my family made me feel insecure about the relationship). I regret it every day, because breaking up with him started a domino effect in his life, and I don’t want to explain that part further cuz it still stings. The other “relationships” I had were just as messed up, and I thought it would be less painful when I had a crush on a girl, but nah, that was even worse. I confessed to her and she went and started dating my friend  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ There’s more to unpack between my crushes/relationships from the past, but I don’t think Tumblr needs to know the rest of that.

Anyway, this isn’t about all that. Romantic love is all well and good, and I like to think I’m at a place in my life where I’d be ready for something romantic, but for me platonic love comes first, and is the most important thing to me. My family has warped my and my romance has damaged me, but my friends, for the most part, have healed me and helped me grow more than anything else. I’ve gotten through my darkest moments completely alone, because my irl friends just... didn’t care, but the older I get, the more I’m learning I don’t have to do that, because even if my “friends” irl don’t give a damn about me, I like to imagine I’m starting to accept that the friends I’ve made online, notably Tumblr, do genuinely care.

Internet friends are so much more treasurable than people give them credit for, and I know in this day and age it’s hard to know if you’re getting catfished or not, but these people especially I trust with my entire life. So for this Valentine’s Day I would like to send invisible Valentine’s Day love to three Tumblr friends I’ve made over the past year or two I’ve been on this site that I appreciate more than words can describe.

@cremmisius | @weasleywood True friendship is born from a meme, which is how I found this amazing sir. Intrigued because my lack of being able to read like a normal person made me think his URL said Weasel instead of Weasley, because I’m an idiot. A meme and a fun name had us starting to talk, and now I consider him to be one of my closest online friends QwQ I just wish we lived a little closer, I swear if I loved closer to you or you lived closer to me I’d be dragging you to watch The Cursed Child with me so we could cry over it together. For now we must deal with several states separating us, but I’m going to be sending you more care packages and goodies as soon as I can. Thank you for being such an amazing friend to me, and for letting me slide into your DMs with so many depressing and angsty James headcanons because I’m a lunatic. Thank you for having such amazing OCs and for just existing in general, because my man you give me strength (and really good advice considering who I’m crushing on so thank you for helping me pick out his christmas present).

@scarshavestories I think it’s been literally a year? Since we started talking? I’ll be honest, I reached out originally for a beta reader, which I’d never had before cuz I was too much of a wuss and couldn’t handle edits. A beta would say “you spelled yes with two E’s” and I’d cry cuz I’m a baby, but I think I’m better now, probably. At first you were super intimidating, idk why, beta readers are just spooky scary to me, editors have inhuman powers, and I thought I was constantly annoying you when I messaged you because i’m just like that, but you are literally so patient and kind and sweet and I did not expect that but I appreciate you so much for putting up with me (and I know you’re gonna smack me with a newspaper or something cuz I say “put up with me” a lot and you nag me about it but you know what that’s okay that’s what friends do). Anyway! I’ve grown to really consider you a friend, and I feel so beyond lucky, because wow I do not deserve you, you’re too nice and wonderful I can’t even believe it, and I want to send you goodies in a care package too but I don’t wanna send you stuff you can’t use cuz I know you don’t like having stuff with no purpose BUT I’LL FIGURE SOMETHING OUT! And one day if I ever visit the UK I hope I can meet you QwQ you are very far away, literally the other side of the world from me, am sad but still love you.

@bettercallmemalfoy I think you’re one of the first people I started talking to on Tumblr, found you through Scorbus and I think that’s very appropriate tbh. You’re not much younger than me but I consider you my smol sis and I adore you, and for the record your accent is SO CUTE I just wanted to add that. I haven’t sent out your care package yet cuz of personal stuff but it’s bad cuz I keep finding stuff I want to add to it and if I keep adding stuff it’s gonna be really heavy and then the shipping will literally kill me, but I just want to note when you get your box you are going to be so happy and I can’t wait for you to get it cuz it’s packed with all the love in the world cuz I want to spoil you cuz you deserve it. I know right now you’re probably watching TCC and I’m SO HAPPY FOR YOU cuz you deserve it so much, being able to watch the play for real, you deserve it more than most tbh (everyone deserves to see it at least once but that’s not the point). I just wanted to add you to this post and send you Valentine’s Day love so you know that someone out there adores you. Even if it’s just me, at least it’s something QwQ thank you for being my friend, and again I’m sad you’re so so far away, separated by lots of that stupid water, but we’ve been friendos for this long so maybe we can remain friendos until we can maybe meet one day.

Even if I haven’t contacted you in weeks, I think about you guys every day, when I think of true friends I think of you three, and I talk about you guys at work and to my family and talk you up and say I have pen pals/internet friends and they’re the best and I love them cuz I love you guys so much and you deserve to know. So thank you for being my friends, thank you for putting a little more light and love into my life and making me happy to have a Tumblr.

Remember to take care of yourselves, take your meds, get enough sleep, enjoy baking that cake, don’t cry too hard at TCC but if you do make sure you cry in front of James Howard (I think he’s the actor who plays Draco in the London production, right?) that way you can sneak your way into maybe getting a hug >:3 

And know I love you lots and wish all the good in the world to befall you <3 <3 <3 Happy Valentine’s Day to you and to all of my followers who have decided to put up with all my mess, I love you all!

[olicitysecretsanta]

True Loves Gifts: AN 2018 SECRET SANTA GIFT

@christinabeggs: May you Holiday be bright and full of Olicity dessert. I hope you enjoy this fic. It gave me the gift OF writing again and finding the joy of creating something new. 

TRUE LOVES GIFTS:

After months of long nights in the office, smoldering looks over the computer screen Felicity has a date with one of the most eligible bachelors in Starling City. A handsome billionaire her mother would be proud to call son. They share a concern for making their relationship public considering he is technically her boss. A few whispered conversations and an upcoming Winter Gala made Felicity his date.

Ray was everything she’d dreamed of as a potential husband. He was brilliant, charismatic, funny, he valued her mind as much as her body.

Felicity has a little over a week to find the perfect dress, make a hair appointment to touch up her roots. Her work schedule left her with only one day to get everything done.

She throws  her hair up in a messy bun, her comfortable shopping outfit leggings and oversize sweater. Felicity grabs her purse, texting Renee about her hair emergency. Felicity is looking down unaware of the person standing in her hallway until she slams into the hard body.

Felicity lets out a yelp before falling backwards on her butt. Her glasses fall off her nose turning the world into blurry shades of green and brown.

“Hey!?” Felicity snaps. “Anyone get the name of the tree I ran into? Ouch, sorry I didn’t see you.”

She looks up at the man standing in front of her, he’s wearing head to toe camouflage. Half his face is covered with a full beard. His hair is shaggy under the green ball cap he wore. The rest of his face hidden behind dark sunglasses. On his shoulder is a stuffed duffle bag.

“I didn’t know camouflage works in urban hallways,” Felicity tilts her head to the side. She sees his lips twitch, at least she thinks  they did. It was hard to tell with the dead animal on his face.

“Are you okay?” the tree of a man has a deep rich amused voice.

Something about him seems familiar. He reaches down helping her get to her feet. He smells of sand and a faint hint of spice.

“Oliver in 2B?!” Felicity says with a snap of her fingers.

He was a ARMY something or other and had been deployed for over eighteen months. She had a bit of a crush on him before he’d left but never had the courage to tell him. They had been friendly neighbors, he’d help her with projects around the apartment. She’d save his computer from him. On rare occasions he’d cook her dinner.

The first few months after he left she’d send him care packages full of cookies made by the bakery down the block and a few pictures of her Sunday adventures. She stopped writing when he never wrote her back.

“Felicity 2A, good to see you.” Oliver’s says softly.

Felicity looks down at her rumpled clothes, drags a hand over her hair.

“Welcome home,” her phone dings in her pocket. “I have to run, glad you made it back.”

Felicity rushes past him, she can feel his eyes watching her, she refuses to give him the satisfaction of turning back. Oliver had been a short term crush from some long ago dream. Ray Palmer was a viable future. She has a date to get ready for and no time to waste thinking about Oliver 2B.

….

Renee does an amazing job on her hair color. He practices a few different updos depending on style of dress. His vote is something short to show off her legs. She promises him pictures before running off for dress shopping.

She hits the major stores trying on different styles, colors, lengths, fabrics nothing feels  right. Felicity finds a small boutique she’d only read about in a magazine. The dresses are stunning. The price tags shocking.

A skin tight beaded red dress catches her eye.

Standing in front of the mirror Felicity wonders what Oliver would say if he saw her in this dress. Would his eyes follow the deep V of the neck line or would he be drawn to the mid thigh length.

She shakes her head of Oliver thoughts. This dress isn’t for him, it’s for Ray.

It’s for her future.

Felicity runs her hand over the beads, her finger drawing along the intricate designs. She’d need a new bra, a little something intimate to match. A new pair of shoes that’d kill her feet and make her legs appear longer. It would be cold, Felicity is going to need a wrap to keep her warm. Is Ray the kind of guy to offer her his coat?

A few hours later, Felicity stumbles into her apartment.  She spent way more than she should have. Probably will live off top ramen for a few weeks. It’s worth it. She puts away her purchases then collapses on the couch.

Pulling out her cell phone she considers calling Ray. Felicity puts her phone down when she remembers Ray turns his phone off on Sunday’s, she’d see him tomorrow. They have an early meeting with a new client.

A loud buzzing from her intercom startles her. Felicity press the button, the image of a teenager holding a bag filled the small monitor.

“Yes?” she asks in confusion.

“Delivery for 2A.”

“I didn’t order anything?” It has been a long day but she would have remembered ordering food.

The kid sighs, “well someone did and I’m supposed to deliver it. So do you want it or not?”

“What is it?” Felicity recognizes the logo on the bag. It’s the best kosher deli in the city.

“Latkes,” the teenager taps his toe.

She has only had Solomon’s Latkes a few times and they were amazing. “I’ll be right down. Oh, how much?” Felicity reaches for her purse.

“Paid for including the tip.”

“You sure they are for 2A?” Felicity is highly suspicious, also hungry.

“Come on lady I have two more deliveries, if you don’t want them I’ll leave.” The kid pulls out his phone.

“No way am I turning down Latkes, two minutes.”

Felicity runs out the door in her socks.  Her feet slide on the hardwood floor, her arms pinwheel and she starts to fall back. A strong arm wraps around her waist and pulls her back into a warm chest. She inhales the smell of warm spices. The tip of her ear brushes against coarse hair.

“We got to stop meeting like this 2B.” Felicity’s voice is low. She licks her lips.

“Just trying to help 2A.” Oliver’s says in her ear.

His hands slide up her sides onto her shoulders and he gently places her steady on her feet. She misses his warmth instantly. He stays a few inches behind her, the heat radiating between them. Felicity fears if she turns around she will do something crazy and throw herself back in his arms.

“Very kind of you 2B. Well, I have latkes waiting.” Felicity steps away from him for the second time today. Each step harder than the first.

“Merry Christmas 2A,” Oliver calls out to her.

Felicity stops, she turns around. She sees him standing tall, his back straight, shoulder tight taking up the entire space of the hall with his size. He is out of the uniform, a black tee shirt cling to his chest. His arms were bigger, she wants to drag her hand over the lines of his chest. His jeans hug his hips. He is bigger, broader more gladiator than a simple soldier. His beard still covers his face. Unlike last time she could see his piercing blue eyes. When she meets his eyes something in his body eases.

“Thanks, but I’m Jewish.” Felicity corrects. She swore they’d talked about this before. Maybe she wrote it in a letter. Oliver didn’t remember, why should she care.

“Oh then, Happy Hanukkah 2A.” Oliver steps back, walks into his apartment and closes the door. .

“Lateks, I have Lateks.”

She hesitates another moment. She used to linger in the hall until he’d open his door and ask about her day. They would talk from their doorways until she’d slip out of her shoes. He’d tease her about being tiny and tell her to have a nice night before disappearing behind his door. The time he was gone the hallway felt empty and cold. She’d walk by his door and know he wasn’t home.  The hallway became colder, everything a little more empty. It felt as if even the building held its breath.

Felicity smiles knowing he is behind the door, Oliver was home safe. It would take her time to get used to him being home. Maybe they would even get back to the way they use to be. Her letters never revealed how she’d felt, she has no reason to be mad at him.

She slowly turns away from the door and down the stairs. The teen gave up waiting, leaving her strange delivery on the front porch. Felicity brings the bag inside, locks her door and sets her alarm. She opens the bag, inside with the receipt, there is a note.

On the first night of Hanukkah my True love gave to me a platter of latkes.

She looks at her calendar and realizes that she’d almost forgotten in all her rushing. The card wasn’t signed. The only logical person has to be Ray. She’d told him about the deli and her love of the food. Felicity couldn’t believe he’d done this for her. It was thoughtful and sweet.

Facility hated surprises but she is sure this years Hanukkah was going to be special.

…

Each day following she receives a small gift arriving near sunset with a short message.

On the second day of Hanukkah my True Love gave to me a dreidel made of wood.

She was sure it was handmade.

On the third day of Hanukkah my True Love gave to me an ugly Jewnicorn sweater.

The blue sweater makes her laugh out loud when she pulls it from the box. A white unicorn surrounded by Stars of David and a blue and gold rainbow. It is terrible and she loves it.

On the fourth day of Hanukkah my True Love gave to me a box of menorah cookies.

She eats half the box before lunch.

On the fifth day of Hanukkah my True Love gave to me a Blue Nail polish.

Felicity changes her color that night, sure that it would be a sign to Ray she was enjoying his gifts.

Through the days she tries to talk to Ray, to thank him but he is constantly on the move. She can never catch him alone. He tells her to order a limo for Saturday night. He touches her elbow, his palms are damp and soft.

Felicity thinks about Oliver, wonders what he’s doing back home. She hasn’t talked to him since Sunday. She has seen him a few times through her window. She’s watch him running home in the early morning after his run. His clothes drenched in sweat. Before coming inside he scrapes ice off the Diggles car, they have two kids and always seem to be rushing. A few times Felicity would leave for work and her windshield would be clean.

She wonders how is he is adjusting to being home. How long will he be home? What if he leaves before she can fix their friendship. Did she want to fix it or advance it?

Felicity stares out the window, lost in thought. The voice around her sound far away and hollow.

“Earth to Felicity,” Ray’s voice cuts off her Oliver spiral. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you this week, but I need you to wake up and do your job.”

Ray storms off leaving a flabbergasted Felicity. He’d been wrong during their last meeting and when she tried to correct him he sent her out for coffee. Her ears turn red and she almost snaps her pencil in half. It’s only the sight of the blue nails that calm her down. Ray is having a rough week but still doing things that made her feel special. She brushes off his bad behavior and gets back to work.

On the sixth day of Hanukkah my True Love gave to me a Blue Police Box from Doctor Who filled with treats.

Felicity opens the lid of cookie jar police box and the familiar sound of the Tardis fills her kitchen. Inside are gold foil wrapped chocolate coins. She loved these as a kid.

She grabs a handful before leaving her apartment. She stands in front of Oliver’s door, lifts her hand. Before she knocks, the door opens and she lets out a squeal.

“Damit 2B, are you trying to kill me.” Felicity smacks his arm.

Olive chuckles, “I don’t think so 2A. I just seem to have a strange effect on you.”

“Ha, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.” Felicity mumbles. Her heart is racing, her knees weak.

Oliver crosses his arms and a single eyebrow lifts. He leans against his doorframe.

“I mean not doing to me. Not that you’re doing anything to me or even talking to me. Why aren’t you talking to me? I want to hear about what you’ve been up too.”

Oliver stiffens, he pulls back from her. A wall comes down over his eyes. “You don’t want to hear about that. I’m back and that’s all that matters now.”

“I do want to hear about it,” she tries again. “I want to know about the pet you got on your face.”

“Listen 2A, I have plans. Did you need something?”

Felicity steps back, her eyes burning. She shakes her head. “I… Um wanted to give you some Gelt.”

She holds out her hand filled with coins. He reaches out his hand, his fingers drag down her palm. Felicity curls her hand prolonging the warm sensation burning up her arm and down her spine. Oliver stares down at their hands, Felicity watches emotion cross his face. His wall comes down for an instant.

“Oliver,” Felicity breaths out his name. She takes a small step closer. His head lifts up, his eyes meet hers. She longs to touch his cheek, to pull him in.

Her phone rings in her pocket and the moment is broken. Oliver steps back, his wall back in place, standing between them. She licks her lips and pulls out her phone, Ray. Of all the times for him to call.

“Hey Ray,” Felicity answers.

“Felicity, I’ve been thinking about you all night. How about I come over and we can go over my briefs.” Ray chuckles and hiccups into the phone.

“Have you been drinking?” Felicity couldn’t  remember a time he’d ever called her drunk.

“Maybe! Want to join me? We could have a real good time. I want to have a really good time with you baby.”

Felicity looks over at Oliver, he is scowling. Can he hear Ray? Did she want him to be jealous? Could he get jealous? Why would he, they are long ago friends.

“It does not sound like you are up for any time beside bed time.”

“Mmm bed time, I like that sound of that. Will you be beside me?”

Felicity turns away from Oliver.

“We have plans tomorrow night remember. Get some rest Ray.”

“Don’t play hard to get with me Miss Smoak. I know you want it.”

A noise behind her makes her turn around. Oliver is cracking his knuckles. His eyes blaze. She inhales sharply. The phone forgotten in her hand. He moves fast standing in front of her, she steps back, he follows.

“O-Oliver?” her voice quivers. It’s not fear the making her body shake, it’s hormones. He is looking at her with unrestrained lust.

“No one talks to you like that. No one.” Oliver’s voice is a low dangerous rumble.

Felicity can feel his body press against her. He grabs the phone from her hand and ends the call. Gold gelt are on the floor around their feet. He leans in closer. The smell of spices surrounds her sense. Her head falls back surrendering to the moment. Oliver’s hand grazes over her cheek, down her neck. His thumb traces her lips.

“Felicity.” Her name on his lips is a sonnet, a poem she never knew she needed.

“If you kiss me, will you stay?” Felicity’s words slip out. She thought them a thousand nights.

“It’s not a good idea.” The wall slams down between them. Felicity is light headed, she is drunk on his scent. He steps away, she stumbles but refuses to fall.

“Which, kissing me or staying around?” Felicity demands.

“Both,” Oliver shakes his head. His eyes sad.

“Yeah, okay, you are right, this is a mistake. I wish you had stayed gone. Everything was fine before you came back. I knew what I wanted, I knew where I was going. But you come back and mess everything up. You spin me around and flip everything upside down.”

Oliver’s shoulders sag, he takes another step away from her.

“Just keep running 2B, it’s what you do best.” Felicity spins around and storms into her apartment slamming the door.

For an instant she let herself believe. Felicity grabs her cookie jar and the chocolate coins. Ray loves her.  Yes, he was a little off during the phone call - it was in front of Oliver. Everything feels different around Oliver so it only made sense.

…

On the seventh day of Hanukkah my True Love gave to me a candle to light up the dark when we are apart.

A three wick large candle arrives the next day smelling of homemade cookies and cinnamon. How long does Ray think they will be apart, Felicity wonders. She has a rough night tossing and turning. In a few hours the limo will be here to pick her up and she barely has enough energy to shower. Oliver would not ruin another night for her. She puts on her favorite playlist to let the music ease her out of her bad mood.

She removes the blue polish and puts on a dark ruby red. She shaves and lotions her legs. Slides on the dark red lace underwear and matching strapless bra. Tonight if everything goes right she will be showing these off. She curls her hair and leaves it down. Her makeup is dark, her blue eyes startling. Her lips are a long-wear red.

Felicity steps into her shoes and inspects her reflection. Hands on her bare hips, she thinks Oliver would swallow his tongue if he saw her now. Nothing but red pumps and lacy underwear. For a moment she considers knocking on his door and showing him what he is missing.

The thought of Ray being the one to see her tonight seems a little wrong.

Resigning to her choice she pulls on her dress. Grabs her purse and wrap. Before opening the door she hears voices in the hall. Using the peephole she looks out. She sees John Diggle standing in the hall. He is talking to a man in a suit with short hair standing with his back to her door.

“If you’re sure about this then I support you, I’ve been there I understand.” John says to the man.

The other man puts his hand on John’s shoulder.

“Thanks John.”

It’s Oliver in a suit and he got a haircut. She wonders if he’s shaved. Does he look different? Should she open the door show off her dress. Show him she doesn’t care. Before she could decide Oliver is walking away down the stairs and into the night. Felicity wonders what would happen if she chases after him.

Gripping the handle she pulls the door open, and rushes down the stairs. The crisp night is shocking. She tightens her wrap around her. Looking around she doesn’t see Oliver’s truck. Felicity’s chest feels hollow. She is too late.

“You must be really excited about tonight.” Ray Palmer is standing beside a limo. He’s wearing a sharp expensive tuxedo.

Felicity watches as he checks his reflection in the limo window.

“You look great Ray.” Felicity takes heavy steps toward him.

“Thanks, are you ready? Or do you need to fix your hair?” Ray’s eyes skim over her. Taking a deep breath she opens the door of the limo. Ray pops his head in.“Alright, if you’re sure. Scoot over, I’d hate to get my pants dirty.”

Shaking her head, she slides over. Felicity sees a flash of the driver from the rearview mirror. She sees a hint of a clean shaven face before he turns away.

“Driver, we’re ready. What should we do until we get there?” Ray purrs. “I know what you can get me for Christmas.”

He is breathing hot hair on her neck. She leans away, creating space between them. He moves in closer, leaning in for a kiss. The limo breaks hard, Ray slides down off the seat landing on the floor of the car. Felicity resists the urge to laugh. She catches a spark of blue from the driver.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ray snaps.

“There was a dog in the road,” Felicity explains before the driver can answer. She grabs the champaign. “How about a drink?”

Ray talks, asks about her plans for the Holidays. Asks if her mom is coming for Christmas. It didn’t take long for Felicity to realise there was no way that Ray was her Hanukkah True Love. The more time she spends  with him, the more she knows she has no reason to stay.

“We shouldn’t walk in together, don’t want to give people the wrong idea.” Ray fixes his jacket. “Have the driver take you around the corner and I’ll meet you inside.”

“Yeah, make sure you hold your breath.” She shuts the door on his smug face. “Can you take me home? I don’t belong here.”

“Are you sure? It looks like a beautiful party,” his voice is a little muffled through the half raised partition.

“I’d rather go to Big Belly and get a milkshake.” Felicity sinks into the warm leather seat.

“It would be a waste of an amazing dress.”

“I wore it for the wrong guy.” Felicity looks out the window. She rubs her arms lost in thought.

“Who’s the right guy?” The driver pulls away from the curb.

“Someone I was scared to take a chance on. Someone I should have told years ago how I feel when I’m around him.”

“How do you feel about this someone?”

Felicity drops the wrap. She uncrosses her legs. “How do I feel about him? I feel like ripping his clothes off. I want to know how he tastes, explore his body with my tongue. Most of all, I want him to pull over and join me in the back of this limo.”

Felicity rubs her legs together, her hands drag up and down her thighs. It was the timber of his voice and the shape of his ear. The sense of comfort in his presence. Her heart would know Oliver anywhere.

The limo stops on a vista overlooking the coast. He is out of the car and joining her in the back. They reach for each other and he pulls her into his lap. His large hand cups the back of her neck. Felicity places her hand on his cheek he leans into her warmth.

“I thought I screwed up.” Oliver whispers.

“So did I.” Felicity close the space between them.

He wraps her up into his arms. He holds her close, his hands in her hair. He explores her mouth with his tongue, sucks on her lips. Kissing him takes her breath away, fills her up with molten lava.

They lose track of time in each others arms.

…

Felicity wakes up in Oliver’s bed, alone. The smell of fresh coffee draws her out of bed. She puts on a discarded flannel shirt. She finds him in the kitchen. He is sprinkling powdered sugar on a jelly donut.

“Hey, I was going to surprise you.” Oliver smiles. He leans over the counter to kiss her cheek.

“You made these?” Felicity takes a bite of the warm donut. Her eyes close in pleasure.

“You make that same sound when I kiss you behind the ear.”

“Prove it.” Felicity challenges.

“In a minute, I have something for you.” Oliver walks around her, disappears into his room. He comes back holding a blue box with a silver bow. He sets the box on the counter.

“What’s this?” Felicity laces her fingers through the bow.

“Open it and find out.”

She lifts the lid off the box. Inside is bundle of letters in a ribbon. On top of the buddle there is a note.

On the eighth day of Hanukkah my True Love gave to me his heart.

Felicity looks up at him. Oliver pulls out the bundle and places them in her hands.

“For five hundred forty-seven days I wrote you. Sometimes it was a multiple page letter. Others it was a short message about thinking of you. You were always on my mind. You were the only thing that kept me going. Kept me alive. I held on to every letter you wrote, every silly selfie you sent. I wanted to hand these to you. See your face, when I tell you that you are the love of my life. I love you Felicity.”

Felicity hugs the letters to her chest. Wipes the tears from her eyes.

“I should have known it was you. I sent letters full of my ramblings about my favorites places and things. You are the only person to ever truly see me. You are my true and only love. I love you 2B.”

“I love you 2A.”

[humansofap]

I drive up Springwood Ave. to Ridge on a sunny September morning. The streets are virtually deserted and the empty lots and buildings look foreboding. I am on my way to meet Barsheen Ridout, a 57-year-old, long-time resident of Asbury Park who I befriended while taking street photos. He stopped me in front of the barbershop and asked me about my camera. We got to talking about photography and Asbury Park in general. When I told him about my project, he was suspicious, maybe even angry. His exact words were “What I want to know is why a little white girl gives a shit about the west side of Asbury Park and the people who live here!” I had prepared myself for a question like this, but was taken aback at how much I had upset him. I tried to explain how I felt that all stories need to be told and I wanted to help tell them. This seemed to assuage him a bit, and he begrudgingly agreed to meet with me to be interviewed.

I had asked him to pick a spot in Asbury Park that had the most meaning to him, and he told me to meet him at his childhood home on Ridge Ave., which is where I am headed now. I pull up to the house and Barsheen is waiting for me with a wistful look on his face. He tells me this house brings back so many memories. It was his aunt’s home and he lived with her on and off throughout the 60’s and 70’s. His life has not been easy but the times he spent in this house with his aunt were happy ones. Looking back, he realizes this home in Asbury Park was a safe haven for him.

“I lived here from when I was very little until I was 9. Both my parents were IV drug users. Dopers. My father was a pickpocket and my mother did anything he told her to do. It was in my blood, in my family’s blood. So my aunt was raising me. When I was 9, me and my sister decided to run away to go live with my parents in New York. We moved to Harlem and ended up living in 4 different places over 5 years. We were gypsies. Within the 5 years a lot of stuff happened. My father was in jail for shooting somebody. And then the same guy that killed my mother stabbed me. So my father was in the penitentiary and mother was dead and us kids had no one. So I came back to Asbury and my aunt’s house when I was 14.

I came back after the riots. Everything was so different. It was amazingly different. Sometimes I feel a little disconnected and connected to this place. It’s hard for me to say but every time I came back there was something new. It’s an interesting perspective because I wasn’t always here but I always came back.”

We decided to walk around a little so Barsheen can describe what the neighborhood looked like when he was growing up. There is an empty lot next to his aunt’s house that he tells me there used to be full of trees and the kids would call it “the woods” and play in it. He points out a house across the street and tells me it used to be a candy shop owned by Puerto Ricans. As he talks, I can see that the memories are transporting Barsheen to a different time and he gets more animated as he points out different buildings, recalling his old neighborhood.

 “These all used to be older houses but they all got knocked down and built over. My aunt used to send me to the store around the corner. There used to be a gas station right here. Lake Ave. is a whole lot different than it was back then. The whole avenue was full of stores. That used to the be nun’s home and the catholic hall. There was a church on the other corner.”

 We walk up Lake Ave. and it is hard to imagine the bustling neighborhood he is describing. Barsheen points to one of the very few businesses that are open.

 “That liquor store been there forever, since I can remember. See there are 3 things you can count on in a poverty-stricken area. Liquor stores, churches, and laundromats. Those things will always be there in low income areas. That shit right there’s been killing us for a long time. Because you won’t find that in suburbs. You can’t walk to the liquor store in the suburbs, you gotta get in your car and drive there. But in every inner-city poverty stricken community, you can walk to numerous liquor stores. That fires me up. I used to frequent the store a whole lot in the 80’s. Now understanding the science of control and conditioning, about how the establishment that kills a community can stay in the same spot for the past 40 years makes me understand it a little more. None of it is owned by members of the community. Indians run the liquor store. In the 60’s Caucasians owned it. In the 80’s they took it over. Now I’m not talking about the owners. I’m talking about the condition of the institution. That they can come to a place like this and profit. The circumstances and situations.”

 As he speaks, he raises his voice and is growing more and more upset. A man on a bicycle rides past us and stops to stare. Barsheen tells him “peace” and assures him we are fine, and he rides away slowly. We are standing in front of a non-descript building and I notice that Barsheen is looking up at the second floor.

“Up top here used to be a gambling club called the 54 House. From when I can remember till the late 80’s. I remember it when I was a kid, then I remember when I was old enough to go in it. We’d play cards, shoot dice, it was a social place for the community. Even in the 70’s when I was a teenager the block was alive. It was a construction town. There were a whole lot more people and whole lot more buildings. This was the construction man’s and the common man’s place to socialize. They had a charter from the city to have a social club.”

I am curious about what police presence was like at that time and whether they were ever shut down.

“They [54 House] did illegal activity, however the guy who ran it for years, who was called Rayfield, was partners with a guy called Artesia Moore. He [Moore] was an ex police officer and he married into a family that owned the Arking lounge. He worked for the gangsters. When his father in law passed away, Artesia’s wife gave him the racket for the town. So him and Rayfield ran it. This was left alone by the cops. They were left alone as long as no drugs were involved. I’m not sure what happened to it [54 House]. I left Asbury for a while and when I came back it just wasn’t there no more”

We decide move our conversation to Kula café, a block away. Big glass windows afford us a great view of Lake Ave. We are right down the block from 2nd Baptist church was where Barsheen was baptized. He tells me it was THE church back then. He tells me it’s where “all the uppity people went.”

He tells me that the café we are sitting in used to be a drug store. There used to be a bar across the street called the Turf Club in the 50’s and 60’s. It was home to many famous performers including the then up and coming Clarence Clemmons. He tells me that both sides of the street were full of bars and lounges. There was the Paramount Pool Hall. It used to be a movie theater until Barsheen’s cousin, Robin Hill bought it and turned it into a pool room. On the other side of the block was Cuba’s bar.

“My aunt Evelyn Smith, worked there, she was barmaid. The husband was Cuba and the wife was Mini. When the gangsters came down to Asbury and they would bring black folks with them, they would break the glasses afterward. [They didn’t want to keep glasses that black folks had drank out of] So my aunt would ask if she could take them home instead. So she had a whole collection of glasses.”

I am slightly taken about by this. I am trying to understand the demographics of the west side at that time. I ask if the neighborhood was mixed.

“In the 60’s a lot of Italians owned things, like all those stores we call bodegas now. The paramount was a black club, the turf club was black too. Cuba’s was not. It was the elite. The borderline was the railroad track and Asbury Ave. Past there you didn’t find too many black people in the 60’s. If you went to Cookman Ave., you knew you had to act right. You knew you were someplace special. You better act right in the white folk’s shit. Cuz the borderline was the goddamn tracks. Then the riots happened in the 70’s. After everything was burnt down, there was a portion of Lake Ave. that was left empty on both sides. It never got rebuilt. Recently they built a few homes on both sides. Maybe in the 90s. But it’s never been the same.”

Barsheen tells me that in the 90’s there were black-run businesses in Downtown Asbury Park, which are all gone now; a result of gentrification.

“They had Freeman’s bakery and a black woman ran it. Bond St. and Cookman, that whole side was run by black people. There was a deli on the corner, then a barber shop, then the Jamaican guy’s clothing store. Then they pushed him out by raising the rents and now he’s in Collingswood barely making a living. They pushed everybody out!”

I want to know what growing up in Asbury Park was like for him and how it affected him personally.

“This whole area right here was all lower income. This was all stores and above them were tenements. So when I came back in 79’ that’s when I was hustling. My whole crew was doing it. I would stand on this corner right here and I could see all the way down this block. I could see all the way to the bar and I could see everybody hanging out there. And I’d get butterflies all in my stomach. I was going to that corner, it was my destination. I was going to sell drugs; I knew it was dangerous. And I’ve never told anybody this but every time I did it I was so scared. A lot of my friends died or are in prison. Yeah a lot of them. My father and mother were both dopers. I sold drugs all my life, in and out of the penitentiary. Then I finally went through recovery and got clean and identified that it’s a disease. Part of it was hereditary.”

I wonder out loud if he feels like this is a continuing problem in Asbury Park.

“That’s a really complex topic. Parents passing it on might have a lot to do with it. There’s a documentary and the guy phrased it so well he said “We didn’t bring the guns here, we didn’t bring the drugs here, we didn’t invent no poverty, we didn’t invent racism. But you hold us guilty when we can’t rise above it.”

My oldest daughter for example, is an accomplished lawyer living in Voorhees in a beautiful home. She came from right here. Both her parents were drug users. She was raised in the same house in the same environment as my step son. He’s still bumping his head. So environment plays a part but it also doesn’t. If we had more resources dedicated to us, we would have a better chance to succeed. I’m not holding to the environment 100%. The cocaine epidemic of the 80’s destroyed us [the black community]. Every block had a crack house. Everybody in this community was smoking. It affected everything very badly. That effected the next generation. I’m a survivor of it. I know people in the penitentiary for life because of it. I have close friends who died because of it. My mother’s dead because of it. This isn’t something I read about, it’s something I’ve lived.

I’ve been pondering on your question you asked me the other day about how we feel about the gentrification. One: why would you want to be someplace where they don’t want you anyway? And two: if you don’t own anything in the community, the community ain’t yours. It’s who owns it who has the voices when they go to town meetings. There are very few black people that own houses. If you own something you have a voice. But most don’t own. If you don’t own it, it isn’t yours. You and I both know this. Change in constant. And sometimes change is good. Because at one time, in this town everybody knew everybody. Is it all bad? No. This place we’re sitting in is a good change. People died for me to have the right to vote. Medgar Evers died registering people to vote. But I don’t think my vote honestly makes a goddamn difference.”

I ask if he feels like he has emotionally detached himself from Asbury Park. He seems conflicted in that he says he won’t stay some place he feels like he is not wanted, but at the same time this is his home.

“I guess it’s a paradox. It’s hard to explain. No I haven’t [emotionally detached]. I have a son here who just had a son here. I have other family in this city too. I’m 57 years old. I haven’t survived anywhere else but in the hood. This is all I remember and know. This is my home.”

I ask him if he hopes his son stays and builds a life in Asbury Park. And he replies that he hopes he does not. Barsheen wants his son to see the bigger world, see beyond this town. He says he sees too many of the young people here get caught up in it. The ones that might fall victim to the environment. He believes that success means a lot of different things to different people. It has a lot to do with ambition.

“My son lives with his sister, in the same household. His sister is doing really well in school and already has college credits. My son is always with the boys, he’s a member of the Olds. He’s got a job. He gangster raps. He graduated by the skin of his teeth.”

I’m finding it interesting that the girls seem to be more motivated that the boys and I ask if he feels the same way. He says that he knows both men and women who he grew up with who have succeeded in life and built names for themselves in the community. But he admits that the women do tend to do better.

 I ask him why he thinks that is. He gets very quiet, and the silence stretches across the table and engulfs us.

I am not leaving without an answer and I dare to ask again, “why?”

Barsheen’s eyes fill with tears and his voice shakes as he finally replies.

“Do you know that the black man is an endangered species in this country? They kill them when they want to. Trying to kill our hopes, our dreams, our spirit, our ambitions. And then when they can’t do that they put a bullet in our head. What you talking about WHY. You want to keep it for real? You asked me why? Why? That’s why.”

[hencoplumbingservices]

Food & Drink: New York-inspired sandwiches pop into Nonavo

Find out how to get the best plumber in Vancouver Washington

E

very Monday from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m., Nonavo Pizza is transformed into Nonavo Sandwich with a short menu of Brooklyn-inspired sandwiches on fresh hoagie buns from Dos Hermanos Bakery in Portland.

Co-owner Joey Chmiko is a native of New Jersey and misses the bodega sandwiches that are available all hours of the day and night in New York. His wife and co-owner, Alder Scuttles, lived in several neighborhoods in Brooklyn and experienced a melting pot of sandwiches — from Italian and Jewish delis to Vietnamese banh mi to Caribbean roti.

This husband-and-wife team decided to open on Mondays for lunch so they could serve sandwiches and spend some time together. The menu is short (six sandwiches and one soup) and inspired by sandwiches Chmiko made at a sandwich shop in Brooklyn.

I visited on the second week of the pop-up. Martha and the Vandellas were singing “Heatwave.” On the menu was a rare roast beef sandwich, an Italian hoagie (with mortadella, coppa, salami, provolone and mozzarella), a turkey and swiss (with kimchi slaw), Philly pork, market veg, prosciutto and smoked turkey, and a celery root soup with lemon and herbs.

As with everything at Nonavo, the menu depends on the bounty of local farmers. The market veg will shift with the seasons, but the Italian and the Philly pork sandwiches will be reliably steady menu items.

I couldn’t decide what to eat because I wanted to eat everything. Mitch Montgomery and Brian Clemens of Relevant Coffee were in a booth by the window. They are total foodies, and I needed to know what they were eating. They recommended the Italian hoagies that had previously been on the now-empty black-and-white checkered paper on the plates in front of them.

I wasn’t in the mood to eat like Tony Soprano that afternoon, so I got the Philly pork and the market veg. When I asked Chmiko what inspired the Philly pork sandwich, he replied, “If you’re in Philly, you eat this.”

I need to go back to Philly soon, because when I went I was the typical tourist and ate a cheesesteak sandwich with Cheez Chiz (or as Philly locals say, “wit”). The Philly pork sandwich at Nonavo comes (like all the sandwiches) on a sesame seed-covered hoagie bun that is crisp on the outside and pillow-y on the inside. This is the perfect sandwich vessel, because you can squeeze it down to get everything in your mouth, and the juices and dressings seep into the bread, creating a perfect mixture of flavors.

The pork is slow-cooked overnight in Nonavo’s pizza oven. It’s tricky to get the heat just right because it’s a wood-burning oven meant to make pizza. But Chmiko played around with it to get the heat slow and low for this luscious pork, which is nestled into a hoagie bun with farm-fresh, tender broccolini. Mayo and melted provolone meld to the top of the bun with a sprinkling of pecorino cheese and a handful of Mama Lil’s peppers.

The market veg sandwich is the gateway drug to veganism. Creamy, meaty cauliflower is added to bitter Lacinato kale and topped with pickled onions, housemade mushroom spread and bright goddess dressing. I wish I could buy the meaty, creamy mushroom spread and put it on everything or just eat it out of the jar with a spoon. If you like a bit of heat, the housemade chili goes well with this daydream of veggies and dressings.

A steady flow of customers came and went. Chmiko was philosophical about the potential of disappointed customers coming in seeking pizza. He said, “If they come in for pizza, they can roll into a sandwich.” I think that once people try these amazing sandwiches they will be craving them the rest of the week.

All sandwiches are $9 and come with a pickle and chips, and soup is $3.

Rachel Pinsky can be emailed at couveeats@gmail.com. You can follow her on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram @couveeats.

If you go

What: Monday Sandwich Pop-up at Nonavo Pizza.

Where: 110 W. Sixth St., Vancouver.

Hours: 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. Mondays.

Contact: 360-843-9696 or www.nonavopizza.com

[Read More …]

Find out how to get the best Vancouver Washington plumber

[thatmomforem]

#thatsnothowirememberit

Activities, vacations, day trips… they all ebb and flow as we wander through this life. Whether you find yourself a highly involved person who can’t seem to find a free weekend or someone who’s able to slow down and enjoy time sitting on the back patio or your couch, we’re always technically doing something. As a child, these ‘somethings’ always seemed to just simply happen. Today, I find the adult version of myself in a much different position.

In my mind, the ebb and flow goes something like this…. As children, you’re at the mercy of your parents’ calendar and participate in what is planned for you – sports, vacations, birthday parties, etc. In college, you either party your ass off, study your ass off or do some combination of both, all at your own will. Then, we supposedly become adults and enter the working world where parties are replaced with late dinners and evenings at a bar with friends. Next up, parent life comes around and it’s now my turn to manage the calendar and drag my kid along… and if you’re anything like me, you spend a good amount of time googling ‘kid-friendly’ activities around town so you can get your family out of the house for a few hours and hopefully make some memories like those you have from 20 years ago.

As a child and teenager, I have fond memories of these activities my parents planned for us. We spent summers in Maine and Michigan visiting family – we checked out theme parks and canoed down rivers, we had picnics at rest areas along the long drive and took pictures of every bathroom along the way… no judgement – I was the child who had to stop to pee every hour so my mom had fun with it. We vacationed to Disney World and spent Saturdays at fairs – we did it all. My brother and I would look forward to these trips for the months leading up, marking each day off on the calendar. Then, once the big day finally arrived, I remember non-stop fun!

As the new mom of a 9-month old, I want to give her the same experiences my parents gave me. So, this past weekend, as Em is getting more mobile, eating food off our plates and is generally more alert and awake than the those first few months, I set out to make a memory. Though it’s still warm in Georgia and the leaves haven’t quite started to turn, I was committed to a ‘Fall activity.’ Every google search landed on apple picking – YES! We found one that had a huge bakery and candy shop, wine and hard cider tastings, outdoor lunch spot and of course, tractor rides out to the orchard to pick your own apples. I chose a weekend and we were off!

YOU. GUYS. Those memories we have as kids of the non-stop fun… running around to all the rides, eating all the funnel cakes, swimming for hours on end – whatever details your vacation included… those memories are a FAÇADE. Well maybe not that harsh, but they are certainly not the whole picture! Never have I truly understood all of the painstakingly hard work that went into the planning and execution of those good times until now. I mean I’ve planned vacations and herded large groups of people, but never for or with my child.

For our apple picking adventure, we made the hour and a half drive north before arriving at the Orchard entrance to find parking amongst the masses that also thought one of the first Fall Sundays was a good day to pick apples. We hopped out, did a diaper change, got a bottle ready, decided against the stroller, grabbed the Ergo Baby, made sure everything was in the diaper bag… and we’re finally ready! There’s a pseudo-sidewalk ramp / bridge that leads you from the parking lot to the main retail store that so seriously STOPS at the half way point. Our thoughts… imagine playing frogger with an infant strapped to your back. #nothanks

By the time we make it to the main building, everyone is starving so we decide to eat lunch first. The people at the deli inside don’t understand the meaning of ‘to go’ and there are all of 8 tables inside. So we trek towards the outdoor deck where it takes a hot minute to get seated - are finally sat at a filthy table covered with yellow jackets and proceeded to wait at least 20 minutes for someone to take our drink order. EFF THIS. I grabbed my friend and went inside to order wine flights for everyone while my husband fed Em cold pasta to keep her from loudly expressing her disappointment with her current situation – hangry. We continued to kill yellow jackets while eating our $10 chicken salad sandwiches before calling it quits after about an hour. Us – 5; Yellow Jackets – 0.

Next up – another game of frogger as we made our way back to the car for a diaper change and clothes swap since Em was already sweating and the bathroom was a mad house. One more game of frogger and we were back at the main building to purchase our bag to pick apples and, unbeknownst to us, to also purchase tickets to ride the tractor to the orchard so we could fill the bag we just bought. #wellalrightthen

We swung back to the bar for wine slushies and headed toward the tractor. Time for a game plan. One large bag for four adults and a tiny human with no teeth. Bag says it holds 30-40 apples. But we really like apple everything. Challenge Accepted.

We get to the orchard and are greeted with more yellow jackets, then proceeded to put Em in the Ergo Baby on my back so she could actually look around and get in on the apple picking action. I shit you not, I didn’t take more than 10 steps off the tractor before she was asleep. ASLEEP. Us big kids walked around scoping out the different apples, biting into each one to figure out which we wanted to take home and doing some sketchy tree climbing to get the best of the best, all the while sipping on our wine slushies and (I’m sure) attracting even more yellow jackets to be a part of our apple picking journey. #bastards

Once we were happy with the fullness of our bag, we got back in line to hitch a tractor back to the main building and OF COURSE Em woke up. As if she knew the hard work was over and legit said, ‘ok, tap me back in!’ Mind you we’ve been at the orchard for a total of 4 hours at this point, doing a whole lot of nothing except for the last hour – the hour she decided was most perfect for a nap.

We made it back to the main building, decided on what we wanted to grab from the store then divided and conquered – I went into the store and N took Em back to the car. I definitely drew the short straw there. The store was a nut house. It had to be at double capacity, filled to the brim with people who could give a shit less about actually making a decision and executing on that decision. 

The orchard is known for their fried pies, so of course I wanted to get a few. Being so popular, the bakery had its’ own line inside the store where one woman raced her massive cart – filled with ONE small plastic container of 6 donuts – to get in front of me in line, then turned her dial to slow-mo and I swear she took about one step every 3 minutes.

I finally got to the front of that line and there were only two out of the six available bakers able to take orders. Every other baker was preoccupied with someone staring at the case like either they’ve never seen a pie before or like they couldn’t read, taking 45 minutes to decide on 6 freaking pies! #RAWR

I made my way over to the wine section and had to push a lady out of the way with my cart because she had set up camp in the one corner that had a selection of all the wine the orchard let us sample in our wine flight. I know I didn’t wipe the scowl off my face; I was OVER IT. Not today lady – get to moving!! By the time I got to the register to pay, I realized N had my ID so I had to call our friend to come back up to the main building, show an ID, pay and get me the hell out of there.

After everything was said and done, we headed home with our 54 apples in tow and my wide-awake child.

When I originally planned this amazing apple picking day, I dreamed of patio lunches with wine, Em trying to grab an apple off the tree and us crushing fried pies on the drive home. Instead, we got an over-priced lunch swarming with yellow jackets, an hour-long nap for Em during the most fun part as we both sweated to death walking up and down an orchard and a hellish 45-minute train wreck experience of trying to get some damn pies.

I know that Em will only ‘remember’ this trip through the pictures we took. And it’s not the last time I’ll have grand visions of what our adventures will be, only to have them turn out completely different, whether that be for better or worse. I’m completely okay with that.

Will I drag our family apple picking again? Absolutely! Is it possible the day can go exactly the same way this one did?! YEP. But I genuinely don’t mind. For me - as the mom – I know our trips definitely won’t go the way I remember them from 20 years go. But for Em to have those memories - it's worth it every time. 

Em’s mom