I do not own Power Rangers: Jungle Fury.

Dom and Fran are adorbs.

Places in Books

Still Kind of Lost But A Brand New Day


Truth be told, she doesn't immediately know where she is . . .

Imamuf-

. . . when she opens her eyes the following morning.

Argutif-

It isn't her bedroom at 32 Amell Drive, Ocean Bluff, she knows that.

The light is different.

The smell is different.

The bed is different.

And most importantly, and most confusedly, . . .

Muh?

. . . there is a man in there with her.

More than a man.

A-

Dom?

He is sleeping next to her, actually next to her.

Right in the bed . . .

Oh my gosh.

. . . with her.

Well, sort of.

Frances Faye Fugleman is curled up on her right side, snugged up to her pointy chin in a warm, blue comforter.

Facing the plain white wall a tiny Belgian room.

Away from the, uh, the Dom.

The sleeping Dom.

The sleeping Dom who is lying next to her.

Just a few inches away.

On top of the covers.

Fully clothed, sans shoes.

On his back. Hands folded on his flat belly.

Fingers interlaced.

Blond head tilted slightly toward her.

Oh my goodness.

Breathing deep.

He's just a teddybear, isn't he?

And even.

I bet it'd be nice to snuggle him.

And peaceful.

I bet he'd let me.

Ahem.

She shifts carefully, pulling back the covers to reveal . . .

Oh well, that's reassuring.

. . . a completely clothed and rumpled . . .

I think.

. . . her.

Sans shoes.

I must have been really tired, wow.

And sits up, slowly, trying not to disturb the sleeping man . . .

"Mmm, good morning, Fran."

. . . who, in forty-eight hours, has completely turned her life . . .

"Oh, uh, good morning. Sorry I woke you. I was trying to be quiet."

. . . upside down.

"'S okay. How'd you sleep?"

He looks adorably perfect.

Chiseled cheekbones and lidded eyes and drowsy smile.

Yawning and stretching and . . .

Oh my.

. . . t-shirt riding up just a little on his lower torso.

Enough to reveal the side of his flat, . . .

I'm just . . . I'm just . . . totally staring.

. . . smooth stomach.

And she pulls her eyes away.

"Fine. I slept fine. How'd, uh, how'd you sleep?"

He nods again and smiles, yawning widely.

"Good."

And Fran . . .

"I've gotta . . . I've gotta go to bathroom. I'll be back in a minute."

. . . grabs her toiletries bag.

"Okay. I'll be here, Frannie."

And he will. I still don't know why.

And practically flails . . .

But he really will.

. . . from the room.


After taking a few deep breaths.

It's really not my fault.

And attending to her general bathroom necessities.

I've never slept so close to a guy before.

Fran feels calmer.

Or with a guy at all.

Clearer.

Especially in a foreign country.

More able to cope.

I was . . . groggy.

With the completely different world she's been whisked off to.

I'm better now.

Happily, of course.

And I'm going to embrace and enjoy this to the fullest.

And it's all a new day.

And stop being awkward and embarrassing.

For her to step into.

Just as soon as I . . .

Because out there is everything.

. . . figure out these . . .

And Frances Faye Fugleman . . .

. . . blasted . . .

. . . is absolutely not going to . . .

. . . taps.

. . . miss it.


Their gracious hosts, whose names she still does not know, smile warmly at them as Fran and Dom enter the tiny kitchen.

The woman, probably 10 years older than Fran and sporting dark red pixie short hair, offers her a cup of coffee.

And though she does worry that she's being rude, Fran shakes her head and waves her hands in an apologetic 'no' response.

"Sorry, I'm, uh, I'm not much of a coffee drinker."

Way too intense for me.

The woman smiles.

Turns again and offers her . . .

Seriously? In the summer?

. . . a cup of . . .

I mean, yes! Thank you!

. . . hot chocolate.

Oh, this is the life!

And doesn't see Dom's fond lopsided grin in her direction.

"Merci beaucoup."

As he takes his own hot chocolate cup.

"Yes, yes. Merci beaucoup!"

From the offered hand.


The breakfast fare is simple.

Toast.

Cheese. Salami.

Orange jam.

Marmalade.

It's a small spread but immensely delicious and satisfying.

Especially since Fran and her wandering companion have only met these people less of twelve hours . . .

"Merci beaucoup, merci beaucoup!"

. . . ago.


Their guests have been gracious.

And their time . . .

"Should we, um, offer them money or something?"

. . . is at its end.

Dom grins and winks.

"Already taken care of."

They shake hands, gather backpacks, offer final thanks.

"Merci beaucoup!"

Receive French responses that Frannie can only assume are warmly spoken well-wishes.

"Ready, Fran?"

"Yes."

And head off . . .

"Where are we going?"

"Wherever we want."

"Okay."

. . . once more.


Side by side along the cobblestones, morning sun rising over the architectural glory of Brussels, . . .

I still just cannot believe that I am here.

. . . Belgium.

She soaks it all in for a long moment, Fran does.

The fresh air. The beautiful city.

The fact that . . .

I wonder how the guys are doing with the pizza shop.

Oh, forget the guys.

. . . she only answerable to herself right now.

Let them take care of themselves for once.

And perhaps the plaid-clad man . . .

"Dom?"

"Yeah?"

. . . who started this whole adventure.

"How do you do that? Just . . . fit in wherever you go?"

She feels like it's a silly question.

Knows she sounds like a silly little girl.

But the blond man she has the worst crush on ever, . . .

"I don't know. I guess I'm not really self-conscious alot."

. . . replies thoughtfully.

Graciously.

And doesn't laugh at her . . .

"I like who I am. I like being around other people. I like being by myself."

. . . or mock her in any way.

"I guess I just don't worry about what people think of me."

Whiff of an addendumed smile.

"Well, most people anyway."

And Fran just can't help herself.

Her head ducks down in embarrassment even as she speaks.

Trying to chuckle off the seriousness of her words.

"I wish I could be like that."

The truth of them.

And Dom shrugs.

"So, do it. Be exactly yourself and don't worry about what anyone else thinks."

She laughs again.

"Just like that, huh?"

He laughs back.

"No. Not really. It takes practice. Experience. Time."

Is quiet for a moment, sounds of the awakening city murmuring around them.

And then they turn a corner and . . .

"Hey, the city square. Now I know where we are."

. . . Dom quickens his step.

"All the time in the world, . . ."

And casts her a Puckish wink.

". . . right, Fran?"

And Frannie Faye Fugleman . . .

If you say so.

. . . scurries to keep up.


Hello, hello, calling from the writing deadzone, hello?

Hello. Hope whoever is reading this is doing well in the still ongoing pandemic.

And thank you, by the way, for taking the time to read this.

Hope you enjoyed. :)

Frannie's kind of on a psychological journey as well as a physical one here as well.

And she's going to find herself in all sorts of places.

Like, drumroll please, Amsterdam.

Next up anyway.

Thanks to DinahRay and Seth A. Mincberg for so kindly reviewing and providing some input soooo long ago before I realized I needed a serious writing sabbatical.

Everyone have a great day! :D