That sun kissed ginger hair, only a few shades lighter than the orange's you feast upon. How lucky they are, such idiotic pieces of fruit. They get to grace those lips of yours, yet I don't. Where's the logic in that?
That rugged look you sport oh-so-gracefully, crumpled shirt, signature sandals and that apron you adore. Why can't I hug that body of yours, so tightly on a daily basis? What has that piece of material got that I don't?
I admit – I may not be the most gracious being on the face of the earth. But neither is Maya, and even if the attention you give her is negative, it's still more than I'll ever have the chance to get. I'm just the farmer that sidles down to your workplace in the sweltering heat that Summer threw upon us, a crate of assorted vegetables and of course your favourite juicy fruit upon my hip. Is it the gleaming sun that radiates through the window onto their orange skin that catches your eye? Or is it I, the local farmer who never won you over.
Gill and Luna married in summer, the 17th to be precise. Midsummer, just when the heat rises and makes beads of sweat trickle down your back. Or is that just nervousness triggered by walking past you again?
The reception was under a vast white marquee that graced the town centre. Luna hadn't held back when it came to decorations, with assortments of flowers and ribbons and all things vomit inducing. Perhaps if it were him that walked down the aisle with me then my thoughts on marriage would drift away like the candyfloss clouds above the happy townsfolk.
Alone on a friend's wedding day whilst she clung onto her new husband's arm like he was a precious treasure. The shade under Daren's tree was invigorating and cleansing, I was perfectly shaded from the noisy crowd and the glaring sun. Shafts of light escaped through the clumps of leaves above my head, casting a shimmer on the empty cocktail glass.
"They've ran out of orange cocktails."
Chase stood beside me, his naturally light hair seemed vibrant today. He wore his signature outfit, apart from the lopsided tie. I smirked.
"That's why I stay with Pina Colada's."
He rose an eyebrow, moving an inch closer to me. "A Pina Colada? I'm curious."
"A little late. The glass is empty."
"Shame."
"It is." I mumbled, fanning myself with a bare hand. The white gloves that I wore regularly were hanging from the branches of my orange tree, drying in the breeze after a much needed wash. I wonder if he'll notice.
"You still have some left." Chase stated, rolling his weight onto the balls of his feet so that he could lean in closer. My skirt was brushing the rough bark of the tree as I backed against it ever so slightly.
"Chase, I apologise but I don't."
"You do." He replied, a smirk on that delicate face of his.
"Where then?"
He leaned in closer, until that soft hair stroked my forehead. "I can clearly see some on your lips, Angela. And I think I'll just help myself to it."
A/N – I couldn't help myself after listening to "Pina Colada Boy" from the Candy Crew (? It's their remix, so I take it that they made this version).
Pina Colada is a drink that has coconut in it, not orange. But oh well, broaden your horizons my dear lad.