She was wearing jeans, the pant legs so long the backs of the slightly flared hems were frayed from where she walked on them. A pair of kelly green flats peeked out at the bottom and she wore a matching sweater that managed to be both lovingly fitted to her upper body and also looked fluffy and warm. She had a brightly-coloured long scarf wrapped round and round her neck and her glorious hair was pulled up in a precarious bunch at the crown of her head, locks falling haphazardly from it. Around her neck and shoulders were tendrils that had never made it to the knot at the crown in the first place.
Watching her, Colin liked his plan all the more.
Because, he knew, one way or the other, he’d have her.
Just then the enormous beast she’d cleverly (he wondered if that touch was hers or Mrs. Byrne’s) named or renamed Mallory came loping toward him.
Colin figured the canine would bark. Instead, the dog just swung his heavy head toward Colin, stopped when he arrived at Colin’s legs, sniffed Colin’s thigh and then sat, resting his body against Colin’s legs comfortably.
“Good dog,” he whispered and Mallory turned his head and licked Colin’s hand.
This too, seemed vaguely familiar, just as it had the first several times the dog did it.
He pushed back the thought as he saw the Ford take off and Sibyl waved it on its way. She spent some time watching it out of sight then turned with a strangely despondent jerk and walked toward the house, staring her feet, apparently lost in unhappy thought.
Colin moved deeper into the house, the dog following him. Once she was inside, she closed the door, never looking up, and she threw the bolt home.
It was then that Mallory gave a gentle woof.
Her head came around and she spied Colin.
Her eyes rounded, her mouth dropped open and she stared. Regardless of her open surprise, Colin couldn’t help himself, he thought she looked adorable.
She snapped her mouth closed so fast, he could hear the crashing of teeth.
Then she breathed, “What are you doing here?”
He had planted his feet apart, and, at her words, he crossed his arms on his chest and didn’t answer.
Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were flashing and he noticed her sweater had a lovely deep v-neck that showed a nice hint of her br**sts below the drape of scarf.
“I thought I explained it wasn’t wise for us to see each other again,” she told him, her voice rising and the dog, who sat next to him again, stood up and let out a loud bark.
“Quiet,” Colin told the dog and he sat down again and wagged his tail.
For some reason, his command to the dog made her angry.
“Don’t tell my dog what to do,” she snapped.
He again remained silent and watched her in appreciation, whether it was real or a fine performance, he didn’t much care.
She dragged both of her hands through her hair and then belatedly realised it was tied up in a knot. She then tugged something impatiently out of it and Colin watched in fascination as it tumbled around her face, neck and shoulders.
Then she treated him to a true show.
She slid her fingers through her hair, gathering it up in a massive golden fall of tumbling waves and shaking it gloriously. Then she twisted it again and whatever she was holding was wound around it and then it fell, looking just as delightfully messy as it was before she fixed it.
Colin felt his body jerk to attention at the sight.
“That was quite affecting,” Colin commented, attempting to ignore his body’s reaction to her.
Her eyes narrowed on him.
“What, on this good earth, did I do to deserve this?” she asked the ceiling, her voice convincingly disgruntled.
So convincing he felt a shimmer of doubt.
And, he had to admit, a long-dead resurgence of hope.