[April 11, 10 NE]
Carol's surprised, and grateful, her cry doesn't awaken Sweetheart. Daryl lets out a long, guttural groan before throwing himself, panting, on his back in bed. Moonlight sneaks its way under and over and through the sides of the shutter that covers their bedroom window. She rolls to her side and curls herself like a cat alongside his naked body. They lay naked, sheets kicked off, and exposed to the slowly whirring manual fan that beats down a stream of cool air over their slick flesh. She presses her lips down on his bare shoulder and tastes the salty flesh. "Sorry I took so long to get back in the saddle again."
"Pffft. Ya almost died. Ya been tired. Get it."
"But, you know, if the sex is always going to be this good after I almost die, maybe I should almost die more often."
"Hell no. 'N next time the mayor tells ya to turn 'round? Ya turn the fuck 'round."
"I've said sorry for that three times now," she tells him. "I'm not saying sorry again."
"'Cept ya just did."
"I said I'm not saying it again."
"Heard 'm sorry."
She chuckles.
"Least the court didn't fine us for you breakin' the law."
"Actually…the court is going to fine me."
Daryl sits halfway up and looks down at her with a slight glower on his face. "What?"
"I told Garland I thought they should. It's going to look bad if the lieutenant mayor gets away with violating the executive order, while those teenagers were fined for gathering."
"But ya didn't expose no one but yerself."
"Still….it'll look bad. It's just three rounds of ammo. I have it. One less pint of beer at the tavern. Which you have to make a reservation to get in now anyway."
The tavern will partially reopen April 15, when Linda has regained her vigor and is feeling more capable of running it. But with the executive order limiting tavern goers to no more than 25 for another month, and with everyone desperate to rush the tavern in celebration of the vanquishing of this virus, Linda has seen fit to begin taking reservations for one-hour blocks at a time. She's thrown herself right back into the planning for the tavern, Gunther says, pouring over the books and reevaluating her prices after the Council appropriated several mason jars of moonshine to treat patients, talking with Mallory McBride about increasing the daily specials she prepares to three times a week, and scheduling entertainment for when that, too, is eventually allowed. She's trying to distract herself from Joe's death, Gunther says, from the second loss of a beau in less than a year.
"Want me to make one?" Daryl asks.
"One what?"
"Reservation. For our anniversary in May."
"No grand romantic gesture like last year?"
"Uh…"
"We're an old married couple now, aren't we?" She chuckles and kisses his cheek. "I think a quiet dinner in the corner of the tavern would be the perfect celebration this year. Yes, please do. And can I have one of those appletinis?"
"'Course." He grins. "'S bankin' on it makin' ya frisky." He kisses her and cups a breast in the palm of his hand. He squeezes gently and is moving toward the other when a sudden peel of thunder booms across the sky and rattles the shutters.
Sweetheart awakens with a cry. They scramble for a bare minimum of clothes as Dog barks a warning from the handwoven rug by Sweetheart's bed. Little feet patter across the wooden floor. The drapes sway, and Sweetheart eases through them. "Uh oh! Uh oh!" she says.
"It's just thunder, Sweetie," Carol tells her. "Come here." She drags Sweetheart up into the bed and settles her between them. She lies down but sits bolt upright when there's another boom across the sky, and then the rain begins to patter the roof.
"It's okay," Carol assures her. "April showers bring May flowers."
Sweetheart settles down again.
"'N what do Mayflowers bring?" Daryl ask Sweetheart as he tickles her belly button with a single finger.
She giggles and grabs his finger.
"Pilgrims!" Daryl cries.
"Pipims?" Sweetheart asks.
"Yeah, pilgrims. See, they came over to America in a ship called – never mind. Guess y'll learn all this in Old World History."
"We're the pilgrims now," Carol says.
"The settlers, anyhow," Daryl murmurs.
Sweetheart takes one of Carol's hands, and then one of Daryl's hands, and sets them one atop the other on her stomach. She puts both her little hands over theirs. "Sweaters!"
"Settlers," Daryl tells her.
Carol looks up from their hands joined together in a family pile and catches Daryl's eyes in the flickering moonlight. "I'm glad I'm settling with you."