Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! This week our group writes to the word prompt, "key". Would Marty ever change his mind? From Steal My Heart, book 4 WIP from The Fantasy League series.
Pulling her keys from the purse, she walked toward the exit door. I joined her stride for stride. Until she was safely tucked in her car, I couldn’t leave her. I pushed open the heavy door, revealing a beautiful evening, complete with stars, a quarter moon, and the scent of lime essence she used in her hair. Too many memories returned full blast.
“Can we, maybe possibly talk a little? I want to clear a few things between us.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, jingling her keys rapidly. I watched the wrinkles on her forehead deepen, which only happened during intense moments of deduction. I wanted to read her mind, probably the most popular super power available in supernatural circles. I wasn’t quite ready to sell my soul for the gift, however. “I don’t want to argue. I’m tired, so very tired.”
Reflexively, my hand reached for hers, loosely covering, protecting, offering an invisible olive branch. “I’m done fighting.”
Skin to skin once again created a robust torpedo, rocketing through my insides. Honestly, I wasn’t looking for anything but a truce. If I had to live with a lifetime of lust for Lola, so be it, I’d manage. Running away hadn’t solved anything, maybe clearing the misunderstandings between us would. Strangely, her fingers softened their grip, almost welcoming my digit shelter. Our fingers together sprang forth a Sunday school rhyme, signaling the loss of my reasonable thought processes.
Here is the church, here is the steeple, open it up, and here’s all the people. For me it changed to- Here is your safety, here we are friends, open us up, and here no one pretends.
“Truce, I’m offering a truce. Life’s too long to stay enemies.”
“Enemies? You thought of me as an enemy?” Lola’s shoulders drooped, the left one a bit more than the right. Remembering her from the diner, I wanted her more confident. She wouldn’t move on to better things, a better mood, better decisions unless she stood up for herself.
“It’s the first word I thought of, not necessarily what I thought of you.”
Changing tracks quickly, her shoulders squared, she made eye contact. “I’d like to talk, very much so.”
“Nice, how about you follow me? We can go to this nice quiet jazz spot, have some beignets with café au lait.” I don't hide the key to my heart, it dangled precariously, waiting to be stolen. I didn’t want to remain in Lola’s trap, I wanted free of her…maybe. If I had no choice, would I finally give in?
A hesitant upturn of the lips, those beautiful soft lips, precluded a slow nod of her head in agreement. “Your place sounds so much better than any popular coffee chain.”
“I know how to pick ‘em.”
Sliding into my car, panic replaced warmth. What the fuck was I doing? If I wasn’t careful, the entire floodgates of my love for her would drown my sense of reason, pushing me into a twisted place of suffocating discomfort. For so many damn months, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, every moment a tortured reminder. Was I putting myself back in the path of her destruction?
Turning the key, calm replaced chaos. I only wanted to cut away all the hate, the misunderstanding, the anger. I knew full well what I was doing. I would be in control. Two-Face Harvey Dent had nothing on me at that moment. Two such different sides of me jockeying for position. Facing Lola was like going into a fist fight, I had to plan my strategy carefully so I didn’t lose my footing.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of "key".