In all honesty – I know next to nothing about cloth/fabric/ect. So – please forgive me if I get something drastically wrong. My research went as far as Google and Wikipedia. *grimaces*
Neal Caffrey was like… cashmere - June decided as she eyed her wardrobe thoughtfully. Adaptable – light hearted – and oh so warm. She smiled briefly at the thought of the bright eyed conman. Her own Byron had been quite similar… although – at the same time – not so. He had been more of an… an angora.
June's fingers clenched tightly over the black gloves clasped in her hands – a gift from Byron, so long ago. Soft… warm… gentle… loving… sweet…
Angora.
Byron.
She took a steadying breath – letting the memories of amber eyes, hungry kisses, and seemingly endless dancing fall back into the shadowy crevices of her mind. No sense in dwelling in the past. She pushed past the all too familiar suit coats – that, while still possessing gleaming buttons and stiff collars – had long since stopped smelling of the musky sweet scent that was utterly… Byron.
She hadn't had the heart to donate these coats. No. She couldn't even give them to darling, sweet Neal… they were Byron's. Her Byron's…
Clothes hangers clicked together as she pushed through the vast closet. Too hot – too light – need something darker – something softer –
June paused as her fingers came in contact with a caramel colored sweater. Mohair. She smiled and pulled it off the rack before turning around and holding it at her neck to examine herself in the mirror. She had had the sweater for several years – but the durable fabric still managed to retain its luster and sheen – remaining as beautiful as the day she had bought it.
June turned away from the mirror and placed the sweater and its hanger back on the rack. It was nice… but she wanted something softer than mohair. Something sweeter… something like chocolate… or dancing….
It was like Peter. June mused absentmindedly – once more resuming her search. Dependable – strong –yes. She smiled as the face of the hardworking FBI flitted through her mind. He was defiantly mohair.
But she didn't want to wear that today. No. She needed something special...
June smiled fondly as she came in contact with one of the few simple shirts in her closet. It was made of… worsted, her mind supplied as she pulled out the brown garment. She hadn't worn it in years… her youngest daughter had given it to her as a Christmas gift when she was six – knowing full well that her mother liked clothing. The girl had been too young to realize the difference between the high quality garments June wore and the plain, coarse shirt she had bought – so June had cooed and awed over the gift even as she felt the rough material beneath her fingertips. And she knew in her heart that she would never ever get rid of that shirt.
That didn't mean she had to wear it, however.
She slipped the shirt back onto the rack just as quickly as she had pulled it out. If she had to compare anybody to worsted – it would be Mozzie. Mr. Haversham. Whatever name he was choosing to go by at the moment. He was defiantly not… of the best quality – to say the least. But he brought a smile to her face all the same. And June always liked men that could make her smile…
Byron could make her smile. He could make her smile like nobody else could. June pushed through the closet – her lips starting to tremble ever so slightly. She needed something soft. Something sweet. Something perfect…
After all – it was her wedding anniversary.
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