Peggy sat at the kitchen table, sipping a glass of wine and going over paperwork for the fourth night in a row. Her eyes burned from staring at the lettering for too long, and her neck ached from looking down at the reports for hours.
The only thing keeping her headache at bay was Angie's soft humming of a beautiful, though admittedly quirky, tune. The melody, coupled with the sounds of running water as the young woman filled the sink to clean their dinner dishes, filled the kitchen and calmed Peggy's frayed nerves.
It wasn't until a few minutes later, after several hard clanks of ceramic and metal, that Peggy realized the tune her lover was humming was Pistol Packin' Mama.
She froze for half a moment, then carefully placed her paperwork on the table and turned her body ever-so-slightly to see Angie from the corner of her eye.
She was tense, Peggy could tell. Her shoulders were taut, and she moved with a certain rigidity that was typically absent from her mannerisms. Not a good sign.
And the tune…
"Are you planning to shoot me, darling?" Peggy asked, hoping a bit of humor would pull Angie from her mood. When the other woman didn't even glance at her, Peggy knew something was wrong.
"Don't know what you mean, English." The tease was filled with an underlying tension that made Peggy flinch.
"Angie, whatever is the matter?" The note of concern in Peggy's voice seemed to do more harm than good, as the tension in Angie's shoulders only got worse.
"Nothin's the matter, Peg," she bit out, never once looking away from the dirty dishes. "It's not like we were supposed to spend the evening together or anything."
And then it dawned on her. The promise she'd made the night before...
The promise of "just us" she'd made to an irritated Angie after three nights of silent dinners and unending paperwork.
"No work," she'd told Angie.
"Just us," she'd said
"I promise."
"Oh," she breathed, mostly to herself.
Angie slammed a plate in the sink, clearly disgusted.
"Darling-"
"Don't you darling me!" Angie hissed. She whirled on Peggy, hands soapy and water flying everywhere. "You promised!"
"I know." Peggy rose from her seat, and slowly approached Angie.
"You promised!"
"I forgot." She reached out and took Angie's dripping hands in her own.
"I hate you," Angie seethed as she ripped her hands away and turned back to the sink.
Peggy brushed off the final proclamation, all too familiar with the young woman's Italian temper. Instead, she scooted in behind her and rested her hands on Angie's waist.
"I'm sorry," she told her lover in a whisper.
Angie ignored her and focused instead on the dinner dishes. She grumbled something about slaving over a hot oven to prepare Peggy's favorite dish—lasagna—and complained that this was the thanks she got! She muttered to herself about how she should have known tonight wouldn't be any different from the others.
Peggy only slipped her arms around her waist held her tight. She leaned fully into Angie's back and hooked her chin over her shoulder.
She considered kissing Angie's neck or the shell of her ear, but decided against it. The woman was far too cross with her, and would likely turn her away. She would send her packing to one of the guest bedrooms to rough it alone for a night or more...
But even as angry as she was, Angie hadn't pushed her away yet, and that bolstered Peggy's courage enough to try something a little more unexpected.
She tilted her head to the side, mouth angled to Angie's ear, and crooned in a low, slightly off-key voice, "Lay that pistol down, Babe." She followed the slower tempo Angie had in her humming."Lay that pistol down."
She sang quietly, her singing voice—oddly high and husky—for Angie's ears only. "Pistol Packin' Mama, Lay that pistol down."
She tightened her hold the slightest bit, and when she saw the edge of a smile around her girlfriend's cheek, she nuzzled her nose against her neck.
"Lay that pistol down, Babe."
The tension bled from Angie's shoulders and a light chuckle bubbled from her throat. She quipped something about Peggy telling the truth when she said she couldn't carry a tune.
"Lay that pistol down."
She lamented how she just couldn't stay angry when the woman tried to sing.
Peggy smiled at the comment and tucked nearer to Angie, bringing her lips to brush the woman's ear. "Pistol Packin' Mama," she sang, and pressed a kiss just below the lobe, "Lay that pistol down."