Author's Note: Just because we're all such hopeful romantics… May you find that which you desire.
Midnight Stroll
Spike instructed the cab driver to let him off near the dry cleaner; he paid his fare with the intention of walking the rest of the way home. The second his face graced the window pane, Signora Elisabetta, the long-time owner and family friend beamed widely at him. He was somewhat bewildered at the reception since it's seven in the evening and the shop has closed for business; when he's this late collecting his laundry, the Italian matron was usually cranky at him.
She unlocked the door to let him in, "Buona notte," he said in greetings, hugging the laundress.
"Buona notte," she replied in return.
She pulled him to the counter with unbridled enthusiasm, "Michaelangelo, sono entusiasta di incontrare la tua ragazza."
He was taken aback, "Non ho una ragazza," he said. And just to be sure there'd be no misunderstanding, he even said it in English, "I don't have a girlfriend."
She gave him the eye, followed by a scowl. She went round the counter and waved a yellow sundress at him, "You wear dresses."
Spike was horrified, "Non indossare abiti. Appartengono al mio amico."
She gave him a suspicious look, "Amico?"
"Signora Elisabetta, I promise you, amico! I swear she's just a friend. She's staying with me for a few days."
She folded the dress neatly and put it on top of the holdall. "She's staying with you for a few days," she echoed unconvinced.
"Yeah, just for a few days. Then she goes back home."
"È necessario alimentare il vostro amico, lei è troppo magra."
He laughed, "I feed her well enough. She's just naturally skinny."
Eventually after much denial on Spike's part, she conceded there was no exciting development after all. She affectionately shooed him out of her shop, "Ok, addio."
"Grazie," he said laughing. He felt no sense of urgency so he walked leisurely the rest of the way home. But for all his intelligence, Scarlatti couldn't understand his community's eagerness to marry him off.
Winnie was in the middle of the living floor, doing Naukasana, a common yoga posture that works wonders on the abdomen. Her upper body and legs were raised to an angle of 30 degrees; breathing normally, she held this position for 30-40 seconds then relaxed. With her eyes closed, she didn't know Spike was home until she heard the coffee-maker kicked into life. She opened her eyes to find Spike standing over her, smiling.
"Hey," she said. He gave her a hand and pulled her up, "You're light as a feather."
He went to the fridge hunting for something to eat and found a bowl of salad.
"You've not had dinner yet?" she inquired as she checked the wall clock, half past eight.
"Nope. What about you? Did you have anything to eat?"
"Nope."
His brows knitted, "Why not?"
"I don't have an appetite."
"That's not good," he said as he munched on rabbit food.
"Spike, do you think we can go out for a little bit? I'm pretty sure it's quite safe to walk around now. It's late." He felt sorry for her. She's been cooped up in the apartment for two days, plus the three days she spent confined in her own place. Maybe foolish but he agreed to take her out for a stroll. She clasped her hands in excitement, "I'll get ready. Thank you. Thank you so much."
He chewed his green leafy vegetables, wondering what on earth he got himself into. He should have made up an excuse and said he's tired, be selfish in that way. But seeing how unhappy she was becoming, he simply has to take a chance.
Winnie came out attired in a white short-sleeved, high-collared, button up shirt; black ankle-length trousers and black flats. She looped a scarf in soft fuchsia around her neck. He smiled at the vision of beautiful simplicity.
He hated to make her wait, but there's something he must do before they walk out the door. "I'll shower and then we'll go." She nodded. To pass the time, she trawled the Net and came upon a news feature about the infamous millionaire playboy Scott Packer. She read a portion of the article, "The Packer's legal team announced that they are quietly confident their client has no case to answer for and that eventually all charges would be dropped." She felt her throat constrict.
"Ready?" She looked up to see a casually dressed Spike in light blue polo shirt, denim pants and canvas shoes. She walked over to him and hooked an arm around his. "Ready," she said.
They walked out of the building, strolling slowly, enjoying the stillness of the night. She leaned close to him, finding comfort in the hardness of his bicep. He looked at her and felt a protectiveness he didn't think he possessed.
There wasn't anything magnificent in the footpath they walked on. They kept walking until they reached a small suburban park; a green oasis in a sea of residences and buildings and car parks. He stretched out on the grass, his hands tucked under his head, he stared at the darkened sky, she took his lead and did the same.
He recited from memory of his childhood a rhyme,
"Star light, star bright.
The first star I see tonight.
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish, I wish tonight.
"What do you wish for?" she asked.
He reached his hand out to her. She responded and intertwined her fingers with his.
"I wished for you," he said.
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it, his eyes never straying from her own brown eyes. It was at that moment she could no longer deny what she felt for him for ages. For the longest time she had liked him, dreamt of him, carried on conversations with him in her imagining. And if the price for finding love was to face life and death head-on then so be it.
PS: I hope it's not too soppy.
