Super Bowl Steele
Did anyone else wish that it was Stephanie Zimbalist at the cabin door in Pierce Brosnan's Super Bowl commercial?
To whoever wrote that commercial: thanks for the basis for this little story! I don't own the characters, etc.
February 1, 2015
Remington Steele floored his rented SUV and bombed through a snowdrift. The mountain road wasn't plowed well in places, but it would take more than that to stop him. He fishtailed, coming closer to the cliff than he liked, so he slowed down.
Laura had been out of town for two weeks, visiting her sister's family. He'd been stuck at the office, with orders to get his paperwork done, deliver his speech, and not let the place burn down. He'd managed to do most of those things.
He looked forward to a romantic reunion, but he was wary. They always seemed to be interrupted. Clients. Mildred. Phone calls. Bullets. This cabin Laura had found sounded foolproof – top of a mountain and all – but still…
He caught a glimpse of movement in the trees and prepared to dodge the sniper, then realized it was just an owl. He drove on.
Around a sharp curve, a looming shape caused him to slam on the brakes. His vision of a tank-mounted missile launcher dissolved into the form of a confused moose.
"A moose?"
He'd never seen one up close. He studied the animal for a moment, and he seemed to be studied in return. He took a quick picture with his phone, then carefully drove around.
A final push up the mountain road brought him to the cabin. He slid to a stop and got out of the car with a purpose. When nothing unpleasant happened, he walked to the door. By the time he got there, Laura was leaning on the doorframe watching him with a smile.
"I saw you get out of the car," she said. "What were you doing? It looked like you were ready to kick ass and take names."
"I was sure our quiet weekend was about to be interrupted by a hail of bullets, ninjas, or the cabin exploding."
"There's no one for miles," she said. "There won't be any explosions."
She brushed an errant lock of hair from his forehead.
"But I can promise fireworks," she added.
He slid his arms around her waist, giving her a relaxed, thoughtful smile.
"I like fireworks."
Fin.
