Jack
Jack strode up the path to Lola’s house on the dot of nine, bearing flowers. The door stood open, the bead curtain was swinging in the breeze, and he almost expected Scramble to poke her head out and give him the once-over. Instead Bad Dog galloped up from the beach with what could only be described as a big silly grin on his face.
“Better behave yourself,” Jack warned, pushing aside the curtain. And she was looking at him, looking at her in her slinky little peachy dress, with those silly espadrilles strapped around her skinny ankles in cute little bows.
“Sorry, guess I should have dressed.” He glanced down at his crumpled cotton pants, the old loafers, and the ancient denim shirt he would never part with unless his very life depended on it.
“You look…scrumptious,” Lola said.
“Do you relate everything to food?”
“In your case, yes. You’re edible,” she said, moving into his arms.
“And you.” He gave her the same up-and-down look she’d given him. As he kissed her, he thought she looked so girly and vulnerable, it almost brought a lump to his throat.
She pulled away from him. “For a minute there, I thought you hated the dress.”
“I love the dress.” He was still standing on her doorstep, still clutching the bunch of flowers. Suddenly Bad Dog dashed past, almost knocking them off their feet.
He aimed a mock-kick at Bad Dog’s butt. “Sorry, he’s a street dog, never could teach him manners.”
“Hey, boy, sweet dog,” Lola said, and the dog came running.
Jack watched as she put her arms around him, murmuring, “Sweet baby dog,” and darned if the mutt didn’t give her his soulful “good dog” face and also a good lick that took off a swathe of makeup, but Lola just laughed.
Then Bad Dog spotted Scramble perched on top of the armoire, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on him. After a minute Bad Dog gave a plaintive little whine and slunk off, ears and tail down, a bewildered look on his face.
“Meanwhile…,” Jack said, handing Lola the flowers.
“Meanwhile…”
She was looking at him from under those long Bambi lashes, clutching the flowers to her breast. Then the flowers fell forgotten to the floor, and he was kissing her and she was kissing him, and they were telling each other how long they had been wanting to do this…
“What about dinner?” Lola asked when they finally came up for air.
“What about it?” He claimed her mouth again, felt her body sink into his. He was trembling as he whispered, “Lola, are you sure you’re ready for this?”
Her voice was soft, breathy, in his ear. “Yes, I’m ready,” she said.