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florvaine · 11 months

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silver spikes and pastel ribbons.

headcannons of Hobie with an opposite aesthetic gf. (afab! reader)

genre: mainly fluff, slight angst, nsfw(?)

warnings: little nsfw if you squint, crying, some kid gets a car lobbed at him 😭

i imaginee the two of you actually met at one of his gigs 🫶🏻

He was on the stage, flicking his roughened fingertips on each string on his guitar, a harsh rift sounding through the amp on the edge of platform as he moves his hand further up the fretboard.

Then he looks in the crowd, right by the barrier of sweaty, headbanging and most likely hammered fans, and you’re right there.

Directly in front of him, pressed against the metal-barred barrier that security was struggling to keep people from hopping over.

What caught him off guard wasn’t only the fact you were fuckin’ gorgeous, but the fluttery, light pink dress that was just above the middle of your thighs. White lace trimmed the v-shaped neckline that was held up by thin, spaghetti straps.

Strips of silky ribbon cascade from the wrap around your waist, dangling pearls and a small-chain necklace decorate your collarbones and shimmer like the sheen of sweat that held stray hairs against your temples and your forehead.

And your shoes - a pair of white, glossy, open-toed high heels that added a few extra inches to your height (Hobie secretly wanted to give you a few other inches), but even with them Hobie could still tell from the stage that he was way taller than you.

He misses a single strum of his guitar, so he temporarily redirects his attention back to the gig, his hickory eyes still wandering over to you from under his mask.

100% got the security to practically hunt you down so you could meet him backstage.

He’s a little anxious because they were taking a while, and he’s slightly disappointed at the thought you already left.

But then there’s a knock at the door and one of the security guards speaks muffled through his private backstage room.

“Hobie, got the girl you were askin’ for.”

The rest is history, really. You were officially dating after 7 painfully long months.

You got along well, even if everything else about each other was contrasting, you’re political ideals, music taste and humour are practically a copy and paste.

The two of you get undoubtably get some stares.

A man clad in black leather and silver spikes and a woman dressed like a doll stood out a lot against the Nike trackies of London.

“Everyone’s staring, Hobie.”

“Ignore ‘em, hun. They’re pissed JD is shut.”

Every now and then he takes you to a more quiet, downtown street with a collection of thrift stores and craft shops.

Hobie’s definitely caught in Hobbycraft at least twice a week 😭😭

Literally loves your style - everything from your jewellery to the way you get your nails done.

He’s whipped ‼️

Loves everything about you, but especially your hair.

If you wear wigs he’s helping you install it, if you have naturally curly hair he’s taking note of each step for later on, he reads the labels of every hair product you own.

I feel like he has a thing for curly hair idk why I just get the vibe.🤭

Hobie definatly told Pav and Gwen about you when you first met, like the next day he’s at the Spider Society talking even more than usual.

“She was stunnin’, I’m tellin’ ya’ now. Really nice eyes,” He turns away from them and mutters under his breath, “And tits.”

Gwen smirks, “You’ve told us, I’m pretty sure.” She nudges Pav, and he’s giggling like an excited schoolgirl.

“Never thought I’d see Hobie have a full-blown crush!” Pav comments.

Hobie hums, a small smile on his face as he stares infront of him. Gwen and Pav share a look before they imitate the way he looks - like a lovestruck idiot.

It’s funny with one of you in the other’s room - Hobie, dressed in dark blues and blacks with an overall threatening aura just sat on your pretty pink bedsheets in your floral-scented room.

Sometimes you’ll randomly go on a tangent about a new dress or concert tickets whilst doing something else, and you’re convinced he’s uninterested.

Next time he’s at yours he had that new dress in a silk scarf wrap, or he pulls the tickets out of one of his pockets.

You’re in the kitchen of your apartment, stirring the milk into your tea as Hobie scrapes butter onto two slices of toast you had put in.

When he’s finished, he slides the plate over to you before leaning back on the counter and looking at your over his shoulder.

“Thanks, Bee,” You pick up the plate, moving it closer to you for easier access to the toast.

There’s two rectangular, shimmery-sheened tickets underneath the circular plate.

You’re shocked, looking at the ticket now in your hand, eyes moving from the words and numbers printed onto it and your boyfriend.

“Hobie, you didn’t have to!” You say.

“You said that ya’ wanted to see them, so I got us tickets.” He shrugs, a small proud smirk on his lips.

Movie nights every Friday after dinner 💕

Sometimes he has to leave early or he shows up later on, but he makes up for the time lost by bringing you your favourite food and drink from the local corner shop.

If you’re in college or uni, he will swing in every break and check in on you and everything.

When it comes to cuddling, he’s the big spoon 95% of the time unless he had a really shitty day.

Like really shitty.

It’s not very often Hobie crys, and even when he does it’s not for very long.

The man prides himself in being Spider-Punk, saving civilians whilst preaching his beliefs to his followers that feel more like a family than fans.

He can only hold on so long, and it’s only a matter of time before he can’t save someone.

Sure, the little boy wasn’t dead, he was in hospital after a car had been carelessly tossed into him by the anomaly he was supposed to contain.

After visiting the boy in hospital, chanting apologies and ‘get well soon’s like a broken record, he goes to the first place he can think of.

Yours.

There was something so special, so serene and comforting in the confines of your cluttered shelves and organised wardrobe pressed against the walls of your bedroom.

Hobie knew it wasn’t the room, but it was you.

You, so different and relaxing. Calming and exciting, understanding and motivating. Anywhere was safe if you were there.

He swings through shadowed alleys, reaching your apartment over the bustling roads and honking horns of the cars below.

Hobie perches on your small balcony, and taps on the window.

In his reflection, Spider-Punk looks back at him. Strong, unbeatable, selfless and stubborn. But as he pulls the mask off, the fabric hanging limp like a ragdoll cat in his had, Hobie Brown stares back at him.

Tattered, exhausted, overwhelmed and in desperate need to be in your arms.

The window opens. His mental image of himself splits away as soon as he sees your face.

“Rough night?” You ask, voice slightly raspy and muffled, yet still as soothing as hot tea and honey on a sore throat.

The routine begins when Hobie nods. He clambers in, he takes off his boots and jacket and leaves them by your desk, his mask discarded somewhere beside them.

You pull out one of his white, soft cotton shirts from your dresser, and a pair of dark grey shorts. He gets changed, you make a cup of tea.

Then he cries. Salty droplets of embodied sorrows paired with the pinch of his eyebrows and the slight quiver of his bottom lip.

Each time a tear drips down his soft cheeks you wipe it away with your equally as soft hands, smearing the liquidated sadness into his now clumpy lashes.

You count sixteen droplets this time before he stops, and you stand up to offer the silk scarf he wrapped your gifted babydoll dress in, and he takes it before wrapping the coarse, black wicks that topped his head.

And then he’s curling his back against your chest, holding the hand of your arm that loosely covers his waist.

Their consciousness fades into two seperate slumbers. A comforting silence drapes over the two lovers, knowing that the other will be there when they awake.

-—-

#*{ ‘. florawrites<3 #hobie x you #hobie brown x reader #hobie headcanons #hobart brown #into the spider verse #spider man: across the spider verse #x reader #spider punk #spiderman x reader

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eastlondonshopfronts · 6 months

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midchelle · 25 days

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I was looking through my drafts and found this compilation of quotes I put together of Beatle girls talking about other Beatle girls. It's probably not totally comprehensive, but I thought some people might find it interesting.

Cyn + Mo

Far from being a shy little thing, Maureen was talkative, full of laughter and great fun: we all liked her enormously and thought she was good for Ringo.

All of the Beatles’ women got on with each other, but Maureen, who was one of the most down-to-earth, honest people I ever knew, became my closest friend. After their son Zak was born in September, seven months after the wedding, she and I used to go up to Knightsbridge to shop. Anthony would drop us off and we’d do the rounds of Harrods, Harvey Nichols and the designer shops in between, then stop for lunch in a smart little bistro. We’d buy cute little outfits for our sons and we were always on the lookout for something different or special for the men. We loved to surprise them with a psychedelic shirt, a piece of ethnic jewellery, or I would buy John a new plectrum for his guitar. John always loved prezzies, as he called them. No matter how small they were, he’d be delighted and I loved looking for things to surprise him. Much as Maureen and I enjoyed our outings, she always made sure she was at home for Ringo when he came in. Such was her devotion to him that she would stay up sometimes until four in the morning to greet him with a home-cooked meal. She wanted him to feel loved and cared for and, like me, she had been brought up in a family where women did the caring and nurturing while men provided. We often went over to their house and hung out with them, it was always party time at the Starkeys’. Ringo was gregarious and fun-loving, a clown and a joker with an infectious laugh. Together, he and Maureen made an irresistible double act, both extrovert and uninhibited. Ringo had installed a replica pub in their front room, which he called the Flying Cow. It had a counter and till, tankards, mirrored walls and even a pool table. He’d nip behind the bar to serve us all drinks, while Maureen supplied us with endless plates of food. It was a cosy, comfortable house with what felt like the ultimate luxury at the time: a TV – usually switched on – in every room. They had large grounds, in which Ringo had built in a go-kart track. He and John would race the go-karts or play pool while Maureen and I chatted over a cup of tea or took Zak and Julian for a walk. Ringo’s other passion was making his own short films. He had lots of equipment and loved to experiment, so after the nanny had taken over Zak and Julian we’d watch his latest movie. One was a fifteen-minute study of Maureen’s face. Innovative, perhaps, but not the most riveting entertainment.

Cynthia Lennon, John

Cyn + Jane

Jane was different from the girls Paul had been out with previously. The daughter of a psychiatrist father and a music-teacher mother, she was highly intelligent and cultured. She had a strong inner confidence, with a maturity and grace way beyond her years.

Paul stayed for a while. He told me that John was bringing Yoko to recording sessions, which he, George and Ringo hated. Paul had broken up with Jane Asher a couple of weeks after John had left me. I was sorry because I’d really liked Jane.

Cynthia Lennon, John

Cyn + Pattie

I liked Cynthia, but of all the Beatle wives and girlfriends I found her the most difficult to make friends with. She and I came from such different backgrounds; she had no career, she was a young mother, and we had no point of reference apart from our attachment to a Beatle. She wasn’t like my friends, who enjoyed a giggle and some fun: she was rather serious, and often, I thought, behaved more like John’s mother than his wife. I tended to leave her to her own devices but invited her to join me for shopping. I think she felt a bit out of her depth in the smart, sophisticated circles in which the Beatles were now moving in London. And I don’t think it helped that John thought I looked like Brigitte Bardot, or that I got on so well with him. There was a rumor—I don’t know where it came from—that John and I had an affair, and I suppose Cynthia may have believed there was something in it. It was completely untrue: we never had an affair. I wouldn’t have dreamed of it and neither, I am sure, would John.

Pattie Boyd, Wonderful Tonight: George Harrison, Eric Clapton, and Me

Meanwhile George, who had just turned twenty-one, had met a young model called Patti Boyd and fallen in love. Pattie had been given a part in A Hard Day's Night, playing a schoolgirl, because she had appeared in a successful crisps advertisement -- she was known as the Smith's Crisps girl. She was blonde, beautiful, and a sophisticated Londoner, like Jane Asher. But, like the rest of us Beatle girls, she was friendly, too, and easy to get on with.

Patti and I were becoming close friends. I admired her gorgeous figure and perfect fashion sense, and I think she enjoyed the company of someone who’d been with the Beatles from the beginning and knew the ropes.

Cynthia Lennon, John

"George has a lot with the others that I can never know about. Nobody, not even the wives, can break through it or even comprehend it. It did used to hurt me at first, as I slowly began to learn there was a part I could never be part of. Cyn talked to me about it."

[Pattie speaking] "It's not so bad these days, but it happens. Cyn was attacked not long ago in the street. Some girl kicked her in the legs and said she had to leave John alone, or else. Isn't it amazing, after all the years that John and Cyn have been married?"

[Pattie speaking] "Some people do understand. If they've been developing a lot themselves, growing up more, they know what it's all about. Cyn was very helpful at first, telling me what to do. That was when we thought of the boutique."

Cyn now and again would like to try something new, to have a job, perhaps use her art-college training in some way. She and Pattie, George's wife, did discuss the idea once of opening a boutique together in Esher, but it never came to anything.

Hunter Davies, The Beatles

Mo + Jane

I got to know Jane as well during that trip. While Paul and Richy were off horsing around, Jane and I chatted quite a bit. She’s such an intelligent person and I thought them quite an odd couple at first. Paul is such an assertive fellow (you know) he knows what he wants and Jane is that way too. I often wondered to meself how they ever stayed together as long as they did (you know).

Maureen interviewed by Maurice Devereux for Le Chroniqueur (July 1988)

Mo + Pattie

Again, she and I had little in common but she was jolly and friendly, more relaxed than Cynthia. We got on but I felt there was definitely a north-south divide among the wives and girlfriends. And I had the definite impression that the girls from the north felt they had a prior claim to “the boys.”

The final straw was his affair with Maureen Starr, Ringo’s wife. She was the last person I would have expected to stab me in the back, but she did.

Pattie Boyd, Wonderful Tonight: George Harrison, Eric Clapton, and Me

Pattie + Jane

Jane Asher was the girlfriend with whom I felt most at home, but because we both had heavy work commitments she was also the one I saw least. She came from a professional family, had grown up in London and, like me, had been privately educated. The family lived in Wimpole Street; her father was a psychiatrist and her mother a music teacher—her brother Peter became half of the pop duo Peter and Gordon. She was three years younger than me but we got on well and I’ve always been pleased to see her whenever we’ve met.

Pattie Boyd, Wonderful Tonight: George Harrison, Eric Clapton, and Me

BONUS: Mo on Linda + Yoko

I always thought [Yoko] strange. I mean she would always interrupt the lads when they were working or do strange things without any reason whatsoever. I was there when John brought the bed, and said something about wanting Yoko to be there. I asked Richy about this and he just shook his head in disbelief. I often wondered how they all put up with her. Even Richy would come home and tell me all these strange stories about her. He once told me about her moaning into John’s microphone while they were recording a song and how the two of them would make-out during takes. I always avoided her in the studio for those reasons. She was just too strange for me.

Q: What was it like to sit in the studio with John, Paul and George? A: It was like watching a couple of actors rehearsing a scene in a movie (laughs). I would sit there with a cup of coffee in my hand and watch them for a while or maybe gossip with Linda [McCartney] or Mal [Evans]. When I did watch them, I always thought to meself, so this is what he’s been doing for the last six years! (laughs) I sometimes felt like a fly on the wall, but I knew that I had to be the luckiest fly in the world. Pattie [Harrison] would sometimes be there, but she would always leave early.

Maureen interviewed by Maurice Devereux for Le Chroniqueur (July 1988)

Can't really find any proper quotes from Pattie about Yoko or Linda. She mentions both in her book without much judgment and there are pictures of her with both of them throughout the years so they probably got on okay. I don't think Jane has ever been in the same room as either Linda or Yoko. Same with Cyn and Linda. Cyn's thoughts on Yoko are probably well-established at this point.

#was not expecting the cyn + pattie section to be the longest honestly #midposts #maureen starkey #pattie boyd #jane asher #cynthia lennon #linda mccartney #yoko ono #mo #pattie #jane #cyn #linda #yoko

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unitedshopfronts11 · 1 year

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captain-mj · 1 year

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London Fog Latte

Y'all remember the Selkie coffeeshop au I promised??? First installment. I decided I'd rather get a short chapter out now than keep you guys waiting so here y'all go

Ghost let himself be dragged around by Jason into the coffee shop. It was named The Sealie Cafe.

What a weird fucking pun.

Ghost was an easy person. If it was up to him, he would’ve went to the same coffee shop he’s always went to and would continue going to that one until the day he died. However, it had changed… something. All of the tea and coffee, no matter what he got, tasted off. Not bad, off. Like they had changed suppliers or something.

For some reason, changing cafes entirely was much easier for him than having to adjust to the horrible change.

His friend, Jason, was talking to him, though it was a bit hard to make out his words. He spoke too fast and Ghost still felt really jet lagged. He had just come home for leave and this bastard had picked him up from the airport literally the night before. Before coming home, he had been in fucking Mexico and spent forever in a plane and he had woke him up at too fucking early o’clock to go to a coffee shop that would be open all day.

The inside of the coffee shop looked cozy. Rustic wood furniture, lots of windows to let in light, a menu that looked simplified but Ghost couldn’t put his thoughts together to read it. There was also a small display with little deserts and pastries and he considered eating for just a moment but nothing caught his fancy.

“They have earl gray tea.” Jason decided to help him out, noticing the way Ghost’s eyes unfocused every time he looked at the board with everything on it.

“Thanks.” He mumbled to Jason, not bothering to look at the menu any further. Ghost went to let Jason order for both of them before seeing the barista.

His nametag read Soap. Funny name. But that wasn’t where his focus was.

Soap looked gorgeous. He had a mohawk and gold earrings, studs with a matching hoop. No rings, probably due to his job, but he had black painted nails.

The gold was what got Ghost’s attention initially. They glittered gently as he moved, holding the light and almost glowing.

But then he focused on him a little more. Soap had the most striking blue eyes.

Ghost shoved Jason to the side. “One London Fog Latte and a White Mocha, please.” He caught Jason’s confusion before he put on a stupid smile.

“Of course, what’s the name?” Soap had a scottish accent. It was thick and added some gravel to his voice. Standing this close, Ghost could also see their height difference a little better. Soap wasn’t a small man, but when put next to Ghost, he didn’t look very tall at all. He had to lean back and look up so they could make eye contact.

“Ghost.”

“Just Ghost? That’s a funny name.” Soap teased him but wrote it on the cup. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but he was working food service, Ghost couldn’t blame him. “I’ll have that right out to you.”

He felt his face heat up at the teasing but luckily he was wearing his ski mask. Blushing like an idiot in front of the hot barista would be embarrassing.

Jason tugged his sleeve and Ghost realized he needed to get out of line.

Soap had a smile on his face, this one seeming just a tad bit more genuine like he knew Ghost had gotten distracted by him.

Nevermind, this was already embarrassing.

He let Jason tug him away to a table.

“Knew you’d think he was hot.”

“And you didn’t warn me?? I would’ve tried to look nicer.” Ghost groaned and buried his face in his hands.

Jason took a moment to look at what Ghost was wearing. Dark jeans, white shirt, leather jacket, tons of rings and bracelets that glittered. Only skin showing was his hands and wrists.

“Dude, you literally don’t have nicer clothes than this.”

“Get fucked.” Ghost scoffed at him.

Jason laughed. “I mean I guess you could’ve taken off your mask.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Exactly! Not like you have to worry about having a bad hair day… do you even have hair under there?” Jason smiled at him, clearly teasing.

“Yes. I have hair. I refuse to shave it.” Ghost glanced over to Soap again. Soap swayed just a little as he made the drinks. He was captivating.

“Dude, you’re staring again.”

Ghost quickly looked back at Jason who was smiling.

“Is he single?”

“I don’t know man. Ask him.” Jason patted him encouragingly. Ghost stared at him, thinking of nothing he wanted less than to do that. If Soap wasn’t single, he’d have to kill himself expeditiously. He didn’t want anyone to have that guilt on their hands.

Soap actually brought their cups to the table, something that caught Ghost off guard since that wasn’t usually what baristas did. He smiled at Ghost immediately and set the cup in front of him. Jason’s drink just got set to the side.

Ghost grabbed the cup, not wanting to take his mask off to drink it in front of him. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem Ghost! Come back some time.” Soap winked and walked away.

Jason stared at Soap’s back as he walked away before glancing at Ghost. “I’ve never seen such blatant flirting before. How does it feel to be God’s favorite?”

Ghost blushed more. “I don’t know if that was flirting.”

“He winked.”

“Well, yeah, but maybe that’s just his personality.”

Jason stared at him before reaching for his drink.

Ghost went to take a sip of the latte before noticing the foam. It had been shaped like a heart with lavender buds on it. Lavender wasn’t unusual for Earl Grey drinks. Not unusual at all. But the piece of honey comb was, along with the way it had clearly been made to look cute. He felt himself blush more.

Before he had an opportunity to point it out, Jason had tilted his drink to him to show that he had, in fact, not gotten the special treatment.

“Dude is flirting with you so fucking hard man.”

“Okay, maybe he is.”

#johnny soap mactavish #john price #captain john price #ghostsoap #soapghost #simon ghost riley #soap cod #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #rodolfo cod #Selkie coffeeshop au

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rom-e-o · 6 months

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Not Supposed to Be Here (Ebenezer/Constance)(Modern AU)

Unwanted company follows Constance home one day.

Rated 13+. Triggers for stalking from a third party, light violence w/ mention of blood, and some language. All the romance is just fluff, maybe with some innuendo if you squint.

Also, this takes place in a modern AU universe featuring @quill-pen's Bess (and her own Ebenezer/zar), Addie, and Gal. Cameo time!

Happy reading!

Usually, Constance felt safer upon entering their flat’s guarded lobby.

The gentle chime of the entry bell and lemony smell of freshly sprayed cleaner offered an air of professional hominess. It felt sophisticated, but also slightly cavernous, which usually aided her feelings of safety.

The building was old in design, with darkly lacquered walls and natural stone floors, but the cameras and keypads that dotted the vicinity were the best money could buy. The cost of the units within the building damn near insisted it. As a result, most of the residents did the same.

Literal resident, philanthropist (and casual billionaire) Ebenezer Samuel Scrooge, for example, had spared no expense in making her feel safe once she moved into his upscale London apartment. The man already had an impressive security system installed. A few years ago, he would have said it was to protect the funds, ledgers, and gold he prized. Now, it was to protect the woman with a heart of gold whom he had the honor of marrying in a few months’ time.

While Ebenezer treasured Constance open and ardently, her presence alone wasn’t the only factor that inspired him to pay top dollar for security.

He knew that being at his side put her in the public eye, and considering her ex-husband’s very active restraining order, he had updated the system to the latest model the day she first entered his abode.

Not only was the front door guarded by a doorman and the front desk staffed by two receptionists, but the floor Ebenezer’s flat occupied could only be accessed by a special elevator, which was manned by its own staff member at all hours, except for the occasional break. There was, of course, the fire escape out back, but that area was also guarded with cameras closely.

Yet, even as she made small talk with the attendants and checked their postbox for mail, a sense of uneasiness lingered over her like a storm cloud.

She felt unusually restless; like eyes were on her, but not just any set of eyes.

It had been just over a year since she’s felt that familiar sense of dread … the nightmare of his eyes, dark and cold as fog, watching her. Scrutinizing her. Hating her from afar.

A Harrods catalog slipped from her hands and onto the floor.

The rustle caught the attention of a nearby receptionist.

“Something wrong, Ms. DoGoode?” one asked, peering up at her from their post behind a large Mac monitor. They appeared to be checking their emails, the camera feed resigned to a smaller window in the lower corner.

Constance turned and looked behind her, her gaze moving through the lobby and out into the busy London streets. The frost-covered glass hid the details of the sidewalk and traffic outside from her view, but nothing immediately caught her attention.

Prudence, the large mastiff that loyally followed her lead even without a leash, followed her eyes. In response to her owner’s obvious discomfort, her stance immediately became more protective at the first showing of fear. She glanced around, growling in an attempt to stave off whatever was causing her new mama to tremble.

Yet, even as they both ladies stared out the front door, they saw … nothing.

Perhaps she was imagining things. Or, imagining people.

Trying to save face, Constance chuckled and tucked her mail away in her evergreen Telfar shopping bag, a recent acquisition from New York that her mother had sent.

“I’m fine,” she said, making sure to flash the receptionist a grin. “Clumsy as always, haha! Thank you for worrying.”

As if sensing her discomfort, Prudence whimpered and pawed at her lower legs. She bent and scooped up the mailer, then rubbed her large, meatball-shaped noggin. “Sorry, girl. I guess I’m just imagining things.”

Something must have triggered the feeling, she thought. Maybe another man in the lobby was wearing the same cologne as him, and she’d picked up on it subconsciously. Maybe she hadn’t seen someone coming in behind her at the entrance, and she’d let a door fall shut on someone. Yet, if that was the case, they apparently hadn’t stuck around to chastise her.

With kind words of parting, Constance made her way to the gilded elevator tucked in the back of the lobby. Prudence stayed behind just a moment longer, cocking her face at something beyond the glass.

Constance whistled as she held the door. “Come, Prudence.”

With a huff, the pup gave up her pursuit and trotted into the elevator.

“Good girl,” she praised. With those words, the elevator doors fell shut.

Moments later, the front door opened softly, and a man stepped in.

“Excuse me,” he asked as he approached the desk. We wore a dark trench with camel-colored gloves tucked into his pockets. His American accent was distinct, with a slight Dutch twang. “I looking for someone, and I think I just saw her go up.”

“Let’s see…oh, Harrods opened their Christmas department,” Constance exclaimed as she read the mailer on the ride up. “Oh, they already have their teddy bear display up this year! The Cratchit children would adore that. We should all go on an evening after work!”

While Constance attempted to distract herself by reading the seasonal ads, Prudence kept glancing around, as if even the tiniest shadow in the elevator could pose a threat.

“I wonder…has Bess ever been before?” Constance pondered aloud. “I’ll have to text Wolf and see. What a fun surprise that would be!”

Lacquered maroon nails tapped the glossy paper impatient. She glanced around the small space and heaved a sigh. “The, um, attendant must be on break.”

The mastiff definitely wasn’t listening. Her expressive eyes furrowed at every sound, and when the doors opened on the private floor, she even let out a bark.

Smiling softly, Constance gave Prudence a reassuring pat on the back as they exited. “You’re so brave, protecting me. Thank you, sweetheart.”

The praise temporarily distracted Prudence from her apprehension, her tongue lolling from her gummy jaw. Her tail swayed like a ship’s mast during a sea storm.

“Now, keys, keys…” Constance said, reaching her entire arm into the large bag to fish out the front door key to the apartment.

When her fingers brushed the distinct, heart-shaped keyring, a grin bloomed on her face. “There you are! Sneaky.”

Constance unlocked the front door, making sure to wipe her heels on the welcome mat before crossing the threshold.

“Ebenezer?” she called into the space, only to be greeted with silence. She heard no voices, or even music, from within. It seemed he was still out on business. He’d been called to a private meeting at a client’s estate. As the meeting was outside of their usual office location, there had been no reason for Constance to accompany him. Instead, he recommended she take the day off.

She smiled at the memory, especially how he had promised her he’d be back by dinner, then kissed her lovingly on her lips to seal the promise.

In fact, he kissed her each and every time they parted, no exceptions.

She kicked off her heels quickly, then reached up to a keypad located right next to their coatrack.

In addition to a front door key, the apartment had a security system that triggered every time the door was unlocked from the outside. Upon each entry, a special code had to be keyed in to disarm the system until the next time someone entered the space.

Some called the measure tiring or even nerve-inducing. She understood those sentiments, but to her, it was nothing but reassuring. It was a small price to pay for safety, in her mind. More than anything, she was grateful that Ebenezer took her safety so seriously.

She reached up and keyed in the code, her manicured nails tapping polished nickel buttons quickly. By now, she knew the code so well that she could enter it without even looking at the numbers.

A gentle beep sounded from the device, and Constance grinned in satisfaction. “There we go! Now then, miss ma’am Prudie, let’s—”

Without warning, the mastiff began to howl and bark. The volume of her bellows was so loud that the windows seemingly rattled in place.

His cheap cologne gave him away to Prudence before Connie had realized.

Just as the door was about the latch, a gloved hand shot through and stopped it from falling shut. The hand was large and masculine, adorned in a nondescript leather glove that would have been commonplace for anyone in London to wear, especially during the ideas of winter.

However, Constance recognized the glove instantly. She only knew one man who wore camel-colored leather gloves, complete with gold buttons at the wrists.

“Well, well,” Orin Spiegler grumbled, throwing the door open hard enough that the knob punched the drywall and left a hole. “The Sun was right.”

“Orin.” The sound came out as a choked gasp rather than a question.

“Normally I don’t read the tabloids, but when I saw that you hadn’t sent me a wedding invitation, I thought I’d check in with you personally.”

On stockinged feet, Constance stepped back from the front door. Shock stole her voice and ability to move, causing her to creep away with the speed of maple syrup through a frozen tap.

After a terrifying beat of silence, the man raised his arms like a preacher in a sermon and let out a loud laugh. “Well, don’t just stand there! Why don’t you give your ex-husband a hello, at least? After all, I flew all the way here. Don’t I at least get a kiss?”

She felt physically sick, as if she could vomit right there on the spot. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m banned from London? I’m here on business, Connie. Something our little … separation almost ruined for me. Don’t worry, I have no hard feelings about it, so don’t worry yourself into an episode over it.”

“I have a restraining order,” she said, her voice steady but far from confident. The acid behind his stare made it hard for her to control the tremble in her voice. “Y-You know that. You can be in London, of course, but…”

“I know you do, my little pumpkin-haired princess,” he said, his tone as condescending as his verbiage, “But, I was in the neighborhood. You know, the financial district, and saw you walking that fabulous little pup of yours.”

Her eyes flitted to the keypad, the red ‘Alarm’ button in the corner practically screaming to be pressed. She wanted to lunge to it, but her ex-husband’s broad-shouldered frame blocked it readily. Perhaps she could shove him, she thought, though her gut knew that she could move him even if she tried her hardest.

She’d never been able to shove him away before, after all.

Prudence continued to growl at the strange man, her canines flashing, and her impressive berth only accentuated by her splayed pose. Lowering herself close to the floor, she looked ready to spring up and attack, like an overwound toy or Jack-in-the-box.

“Easy there, princess. I’m not going to—”

When she snapped at his leg, his brow lifted in surprise.

“Temperamental, are we?” Orin sneered, “I never did like dogs. Too needy.”

His words sounded assured, but Constance couldn’t help but observe that the man had shrank away from her the tiniest bit.

He was scared of Prudence, she realized. Good. This was very good!

“She’s weary of strangers,” she offered, tilting her head down slightly.

“Didn’t seem weary when you were in the lobby.”

Her stomach congealed. So, he hadn’t imagined the feeling after all. “T-Then you must have also seen that I was talking with building security.”

“Who are just SO great at their jobs!” Orin mockingly posed, index finger bouncing in the air as if to tap an invisible period on the end of his statement. “Truly, bravo! I mean, all I had to do was walk in and speak to that lovely receptionist. She heard my accent, and I said I was a friend of yours. I told her I’d seen you while walking by and had just missed you in the lobby. Not a lie, after all. Then it was just a matter of choosing the right floor.”

“The right floor?”

“Everyone knows where your decrepit fiancé lives,” he said. “Exterior shots are all over the gossip rags. You should read them, actually! They say some things about you. Mostly about your breasts and age. I can’t believe they think you’re a 32DD. We all know you’re a—”

“Please stop,” she pleaded, holding a hand up, “I don’t care. I really don’t.”

“You should. They’re short-changing you, babe.”

“Don’t call me that. Also, don’t insult Ebenezer.”

“Well, anyway, images of you at your last dress-fitting kept me and all the other guys very entertained in the airport,” he said with a smile. “You ladies all looked so cuuuute! I’m glad you had some friends for this fitting. It must have been so lonely last time, with just you and your parents.”

“I-I…”

“I recognized Bess – fucking gorgeous lady, tell her I said that—”

“I won’t.”

“—and the other two … Addie and Gal, yes?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“So, I’m right. Fah-bulous. Are they taken?”

“In every way, shape and form,” she said flatly. “Are you satisfied?”

Orin chuckled a little too hard, until the sound petered out into a garish gasp. Then, his eyes drifted out the nearby apartment window, as if he was lost in thought. She almost thought she could sneak past him, until his eyes flashed back to her at the speed of an owl’s.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Connie?” he asked. “You. Here. With him.”

Constance furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand the question.”

“You’re not going to fall for the same song and dance again, are you?” he asked. “Doesn’t this feel familiar to you? The courting? The sweet nothings? You, sitting alone in an apartment, biding your time until he grows bored with you?”

It was Constance’s turn to laugh, but this time, in disbelief. “You and Ebenezer are nothing alike. Not in any way.”

“Now, that can’t be true,” he objected. “After all, you love him … and you loved me. Once upon a time, maybe, but you did. We must have a few similarities.”

“I loved the man I thought you were.”

“Perhaps we have acting in common.”

“No.”

“You think this one will last?” he asked. “That a man with his wealth and status will be satisfied with just you?”

“You have no right to—”

"Want a little insider tip?” Orin asked with a smirk. “Think of men like cabs, babe. When they're available, their light goes on. Ping! They wake up one day and decide they're ready to settle down, have a couple brats, they’re like a driver on-duty. The light goes on, and then, it’s a race against all the other cabs to get their next passenger. The next woman they pick-up? BOOM! That's the one. Marriage, kids, life-rending depression.”

Constance shook her head. “You might be like that—”

“—All men are like that—”

“—But Ebenezer isn’t.”

The guffaw that left Orin’s lips was as strident as cannon fire. “You think you're living a sweet little love story? You got lucky. You were just a pretty, desperate redhead on the curb. He pulled up, and you couldn't wait to hop in, couldn't you?"

Constance couldn’t look Orin in the eyes. “I-I…accepted Ebenezer’s kindness, yes. But I assure you, he was kind to me out of the goodness of his heart. He never expected anything in return because he’s a good man. A generous man!”

“Right,” Orin said. “And yet…here you two are. Living together. Engaged.”

“Stop.”

“A therapist would call this a troubling pattern, Con. You’re the common denominator here.”

“You were the one who asked me to marry you!” she asserted, her voice starting to hike in volume.

Then, to her horror, a grin split his face. “Oh … that’s right. I asked you. I flicked my little light on when I chatted you up, bought you a few vodka sodas on starry rooftops, compared you to a Botticelli angel, held your hand when we ice-skated in Rockefeller Center …I pulled my car up to your curb. And what did you do?”

He stepped forward again, which sent Prudence into a frenzy of howling and barking. Given the volume of her bellowing voice, it wouldn’t be long before neighbors (or security) investigated the noise.

This time, however, he didn’t shrink away. Instead, he reared his foot back and landed a solid kick right in her gut. The force sent Prudence staggering back enough for her to lose her footing.

Constance blanched at the sight. “Prudence!”

“You, a beautiful but dense girl from Manhattan, saw my light was on … and jumped right in.”

She flew to her knees and went to check on Prudence’s condition. Thankfully, it wasn’t a second of checking later that the mastiff was back to her senses. It appeared his blow had merely stunned her temporarily. With one shake of the head, she was right on her feet again.

Prudence weighed more than Orin by about twenty pounds, and while she had been holding back before, his attack only shattered her self-restraint. She lunged forward, jaws snapping and gullet foaming with rage. The force of her attack sent him to his elbows with a bone-rattling thump. Prudence didn’t cite or claw at him, but she did make a lot of noise while pinning is chest.

As predicted, the commotion caused doors to open in the hall, and Constance heard the concerned questions of neighbors.

While Orin was distracted, Constance bolted up and slammed the ‘Alarm’ button on the system. Along with the loud, reverberating barks from Prudence, the rhythmic blaring of the alarm created further commotion.

Pressing the button also automatically pinged authorities of an emergency.

It would also notify Ebenezer via cell message – a notification she knew he never silenced.

She wasn’t answering.

Ebenezer had no doubt he’d find at least twenty traffic tickets in his mailbox in the coming weeks, but the alarm had been activated at his flat and Constance wasn’t answering her phone.

If only he’d been at his usual office; he could have sprinted home, but no. Today of all days, he had been in a meeting outside of London, and had had to drive 15 minutes out to meet a particularly uppity client at their private estate.

Ebenezer had a feeling that the man would become an ex-client after how he’d dashed out after barely a word to Bob and his twin brother Ebenezar, but he couldn’t even care.

“Dammit, MOVE!” he swore, avoiding a flock of cyclists as he sped down A2198.

Once again, his call went to voicemail, and he immediately dialed again. All he could focus on was driving (AKA not crashing the car) and calling Constance’s phone over and over.

He left one pleading voicemail after another, begging her to call him back and also letting her know that he would be there soon.

When he finally had a visual of his building, he saw police parked out front, but their lights were off. Most importantly, there were no ambulances or other emergency vehicles. This slightly ebbed his panic, but not enough for him to coast into the building’s private garage and find a spot. Instead, he pulled up and parked in the street with alignment that could generously be described as cattywampus.

Again, he couldn’t care. Let them blast his windshield with parking tickets

Pushing the doors open and sprinting into the lobby, two of the guards immediately went to his side. Their goal had likely been to inform him of the situation, but their insistence upon pleasantries was too much chatter for him to handle.

“Sir, we’re glad you’re here!” one said, a light sheen of perspiration already coating their face. “Thank goodness, we were just going to—”

“Talk while you walk with me,” Ebenezer ordered, his voice practically bladed with tension. “Now.”

Instead of taking the elevator, he keyed into a private side staircase and took the steps up two at a time. Even professional firefighters would have had a hard time keeping up with the man.

Ten floors passed in the blink of an eye. Upon arriving at his flat’s level, he threw the door open to his floor to see a gaggle of officers crowded around his open doorway at the end of the hall. For a moment, his heart stopped at the sight before him.

Then, amidst a sea of curious onlookers and uniformed constables, he saw a flash of red hair. He would have recognized that hue anywhere.

“Constance!” he yelled, running down the hall at the sight of her.

Upon hearing her name, she turned to face him, her face puffy and her eyes blazing from worry. She was sitting on the floor in the doorway of their flat, Prudence seated at her side and nuzzling her face. They were okay, he thought, barely resisting tears.

She didn’t have time to speak before Ebenezer had shoved his way through the crowd and enveloped her in his embrace. They crashed together like comets compelled together by gravity.

Once in his arms, he felt her sink into him desperately, as if she was a small animal seeking solace from a hunter. “E-Ebenezer …I’m so sorry.”

He shushed her kindly but immediately, his wide palm falling protectively across her back. He urged her closer, and she obliged with a thankful sob, her shoulders shaking as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

“It’s okay, Sunshine,” he whispered, turning slightly to place a kiss upon her damp cheek. “Gods, I’m so relieved to see you. I-I…can’t even tell you what I was thinking on the drive … ”

As they embraced, Scrooge heard nearby officers chatter about what had just transpired.

“The bloke said he was here on business, but his name isn’t pulling up any employers here or Stateside.”

Business? Stateside?

With Constance still folded tightly in his arms, he looked over to see a smaller group of officers that had gathered around … someone. He squinted his eyes, as if trying to peer through the physical entities that blocked his view.

“Is he going to need a transport for any injuries?” a voice radioed in. “The dog jumped him, but all injuries look superficial.”

Dog? Were they talking about Prudence? He looked over to see that Prudence was staying close to Connie, hugging her flank closely while laying his head upon one of his bent thighs.

“Hey there, girl,” he whispered, his hand giving the base of her skull a scritch. “Are you okay?”

Prudence whispered, and Scrooge’s confusion deepened.

“No, we checked him out and he’s going straight to holding,” the officer replied, his tone clipped. “He’s breached a restraining order.”

“Acting in contempt of court, huh?” another repeated, followed by a huff of amusement. “Stupid bastard.”

Ebenezer’s blood ran cold. The realization of what had transpired hit him like a ton of bricks.

All other senses; his sight, his hearing, his sense of touch; faded away, and all he became conscious of was a building fury that threatened to turn his vision red. There, through the narrowest gap of legs, he saw the distinct pale skin and dark-hair of the man that had tormented his fiancée for decades.

“You.” Ebenezer stormed to his feet and crossed the hallway in two steps. He was driven by blinding anger, which caused his heart to buzz like a saw. With the posture of a lion spotting wounded prey, he surged forward and grabbed the front of Orin’s coat. The over-starched lapels crunched under the older man’s fingers from the strength of his grip.

At this lunge, panic ensued.

“Mr. Scrooge, sir—!”

“W-wait! Ebenezer!”

Ebenezer paid the others no mind as he hauled Orin close to his face, their brows nearly touching as he eyed the man like a Minotaur out for blood.

Orin wheezed out a laugh. Only then did he notice the light bruising and raised marks on the man’s neck, each swatch standing out brightly against his sickly skin.

Oh, he would absolutely reward Prudence for her hard work.

“I should put your hard head through this bloody wall, Spiegler.”

“Then we’d both be off the jail, wouldn’t we?” Orin taunted. When he grinned, he saw his teeth outlined in red. “See, I tried to tell Sunshine that you and I were more alike than different.”

"Did you?" he asked, practically snorting in amusement.

"Yes, but I see that time in sleepy little London has made her more of an airheaded bimbo than she already was. She just couldn't seem to grasp the concept."

He raised his other arm in preparation to dislocate Orin’s jaw first-hand, but paused just short of contact. Unfortunately, the goblin of a man had a point, and he was in no mood to be forced away from his wife. Or go to prison.

With a furious sneer, Ebenezer threw the man against the wall in release. The officers fumbled to catch him, but understandably, made no effort to chastise the philanthropist for his reaction.

“Get him out,” Ebenezer whispered, his shoulders hiked up to his ears, and his voice oozed with venom.

“W-Would you like us to—”

“I want everyone who isn’t a resident on this floor off of it,” he seethed, his tone oozing with disappointment. “Any officers that need to question us can come inside.”

When his gaze fell on Constance, still huddled next to Prudence on the ground, his icy gaze melted into something more careful and tepid. Slowly, he sank back onto his knees and pulled her into another hug.

“Come one,” he urged, his voice soft and so, so tender. “Let’s go inside. I’m with you.”

The entire questioning process was as cut-and-dry as it could have been, considering the circumstances. With the assistance of Orin’s digital footprint in addition to the less than glowing testimonies Constance and Ebenezer offered, the authorities were able to piece together a likely series of events. It seemed Orin had lied about his employment status. He was a self-employed crypto investor after having a falling out with his New York office and had no reason to be in London for any professional reason.

“There is … much for us to look into,” a constable said as they jotted notes in a small flipbook. “Ms. DoGoode, you said he made a comment about watching you enter the lobby. Yet, you say you didn’t see him?”

“N-No,” she answered, her voice sanded with exhaustion from the day’s events. “I felt like someone was watching me, and Prudence was looking out the front window too. I … thought maybe I was imagining things? I never actually saw him, though. Not until I keyed in and he grabbed the door.”

“Ah.” The officer scrawled another note.

“H-How did he get up onto the floor?” Constance asked. Prudence sat to her right, head in her lap, and Ebenezer sat to her left. One of his hands cupped her knee, his thumb moving in gentle rotations in one of the indents there. It was a soothing reminder of his presence that she was beyond grateful for.

“We’ve already interrogated the main office and are currently looking into where the oversight occurred.”

“That should be no issue, as there are cameras all over the building,” Scrooge chimed in, peering at the officers with impatience. “That should alleviate much confusion.”

“Yes, it should sir,” one replied. “We’re working to secure that footage properly.”

“Good.”

Constance watched her fiancé in intrigue. In all the time they’d known each other and dated, she had never seen him stare anyone down before, and she had to confess … it was quite unnerving. Regardless of how he addressed the officers, his hand remained tender when touching her.

Meanwhile, while the couple chatted with authorities, other members of the growing Scrooge family pack (comprised of the many friends, associates, and relatives that the twins had connected with) texted in. His twin brother, Ebenezar, had known something was amiss. He’s watched him sprint from the meeting after all.

Upon receiving a brief overview of what happened, as well as a request to inform the others, the messages trickled in steadily:

>>Ebenezar: I knew something was wrong when you left … but I had no idea that it was that bad, Sammy.

>>Bess: I will KILL that man, I swear.

>>Ebenezar: If the authorities half-ass detaining him, they’re not going to like the next letter from our firm that crosses their desk.

...

>>Addie: Don’t worry about any errands! Tom and I can bring things your way!

>>Tom: You bet we can. Are you both set for dinner tonight? I can run something over.

...

>>Harry: I’m so sorry, Uncle. Can Hela and I do anything? Just say the word.

...

>>Bob: I just called Mr. Ebenezar as well, and we’re going to divide and conquer at work. Consider it all done.

>>Ethel: What cell is he in? I’ve been taking axe-throwing lessons, and my aim is damn good.

...

>>Gal: If you guys need some door security that’s worth a damn, Jake and I are free tonight.

...

After one last swipe of their men, the interviewer cleared their throat, the loudness of it conveying a sense of finality.

“We’ll keep you both apprised of any updates,” the officer said as they pushed themselves up from the sofa. With a nod to their partner, they reached across the table to shake Scrooge’s hand. An odd gesture, all things considered, but he did reciprocate, though his eyes remained as sharp as a steel edge.

“I certainly hope those updates include information on whether Mr. Spiegler’s detainment details change,” he said. “Clearly an order from the court is not enough to stop him.”

“Absolutely, sir. We’ll keep you both posted.”

Constance was relieved the questioning was over, and allowed her fiancé to take the reins at leading the officers out the door. After a few more pleasantries, she heard the reverberating sound of the door latch and the telltale beeping of the security system turning on for the night.

When she looked up, she saw Ebenezer tentatively approaching her. His footfalls were soft, as if he was walking on snow. His touch was even softer as he reached down to push a few strands of auburn hair back from her face.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she started. Her tone was borderline formal in manner and delivery, as if she was speaking to an associate rather than the man she wanted to marry.

Ebenezer’s gentleness turned to confusion swiftly. “Goodness, whatever for?”

She paused to blink back tears before answering. Another apology left her.

“I’m sorry for how … for how I seem to always make your life more difficult,” Constance said slowly. She directed her gaze at a notch in the hardwood flooring, unable to look her fiancé in the eyes. She knew in that moment that, if she glimpsed his face, she knew she would cry again. “I-I should have noticed him sooner. I should have trusted my gut better.”

“No, sweetheart—”

“I should have trusted Prudence,” she said, looking down at said pup, whose head still rested in Constance’s lap. Upon seeing her sweet, droopy eyes peer up at her, Constance caved as a sob rattled her body. “H-He kicked Prudence, Ebenezer! She was so brave, protecting me, a-and I let her get hurt!”

For a moment, Ebenezer couldn’t find the words to speak. Did she … really care more about Prudence than her own safety?

Seeing Constance cry spurred London's finest lady (and treat aficionado) to lift her head and lick the woman’s face, lapping away her tears. She was also incredibly ticklish there, and Prudence’s kisses dissolved her tears instantly. With peals of laughter leaving her, Ebenezer leaned in and gave Prudence an affectionate kiss on the forehead.

“She’s a strong girl,” he assured, grinning broadly. “Aren’t you, Prudence?”

She barked in agreement, her warm and deep ‘ruff’ filling the space.

Constance huffed out another laugh, always amazed at how the pup seemed to understand conversations better than some humans. Although Prudence had done a sterling job at ridding Constance’s face of her tears, Ebenezer still fished a clean handkerchief from his trouser pocket. He dabbed her face gently, careful not to pull or tug her skin.

“Tomorrow, just to be safe, we’ll take her to the vet,” he promised. “We’ll get her looked over and make sure she’s in tip-top shape. Trust me, Prudence has had many children accidentally tumble over her before. She helps the Cratchit children decorate at Christmas, after all!”

Constance giggled again, covering her mouth sheepishly as she did so.

Just the sight of her smile was enough to lift a huge weight from his shoulders. While the entire afternoon had been an exercise in panic, all that mattered to him was that she was safe.

“Now,” he said, placing the handkerchief in her hand, then caging her smaller hands in his, “What we’re also going to do is take a holiday. We’re going to spend some time away from the flat and let things calm down.”

The suggestion brightened Constance’s eyes, but that excitement was almost immediately tempered. “What about work?”

“I’ll call in some favors. My brother is a damn fine businessman – definitely better at handling clients than I am. Don't tell him I said so, though. Bob will handle the books. And if all else fails? Well, being a private practice has many benefits.” He then paused to rub his chin in thought. “Actually, it might be good to close our doors for a few weeks to give everyone a break.”

“Y-You think?” she asked. “Wait, but what about…?”

“Profits?” he asked, unable to hold back a smirk. “You’ve seen our accounts. We could shut down for the next thousand years and be right as rain. And that’s a moderate estimate.”

Again, that beautiful smile came back. Mere hours before he’s suddenly been faced with the possibility of never seeing that smile again, and the thought of that physically sickened him.

“Sunshine, what you said earlier…” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I…never want you to think that I see your ex-husband’s actions as a reflection of you. When you say you don’t want to make life more difficult for me, I realize that I cannot even begin to describe all the ways your have made my life immeasurably better since we first met.

“Since you came into my life, I’ve been changed in ways that, frankly, I thought I were beyond me. I thought I was too old to experience many of these lovely, sentimental emotions that poets love to wax on about.” He laughed, tossing his head back and staring at the ceiling. “Gods, I’ve never met someone who makes me feel so excited every time I’m proven wrong. It’s a feeling I’d wish every human could feel.”

Transfixed, she could only watch as he slowly turned to face her again. “You have made me excited to face each day. You’ve inspired me to notice small things – before meeting you, I don’t think I ever paid attention to those fuzzy caterpillars that come onto the sidewalks after it rains, or the way Prudence’s nose always wiggles slightly when she’s about to sneeze.”

“Really?” she asked. Her tone sounded so hopeful that it practically broke his heart.

“Yes!” he confessed. The answer couldn’t rush from his lips fast enough. “When I was calling your phone earlier, I…started thinking the worst. I suddenly couldn’t bear the idea of walking into that flat again if you weren’t there, or going back to work and seeing your desk empty. Seeing your coats line dup so neatly in our hall closet. Seeing your make-up on our bathroom sink. Not smelling your perfume on the pillow beside mine. Not hearing you have a sneeze attack every time you smell pepper, or not being able to race you down to the front lobby when we order take-away.”

Constance’s breath caught in her throat as she noticed tears prickling the corner’s of her love’s steely eyes as he rambled.

“When I tell you that there is no possible way you could make my life worse by being a part of it, I’m deathly serious,” he confessed. A tear darted down his cheek, and as he attempted to stifle a sob of his own, she dabbed it away with the handkerchief.

As if this gesture proved his point, a puff of laughter escaped him.

“The only possible way you could make my life harder or worse … is if you were no longer in it.”

It was his turn to cry as the tension of the day caught up to him, and he felt the floodgates break. Blast, he hated how easily he could be brought to tears sometimes.

What made it easier, however, was feeling Constance’s embrace circle him. Her hands latched at the base of his neck as she leaned in and covered his broader body with hers. His arms circled her waist, securing her in place, keeping her safe and present with him.

For many hours, they stayed like that, silently sobbing and embracing each other as the anxiety of the day left their bodies in literal waves. By the time they’d both exhausted their eyes to achy redness, sleep lingered over them with overwhelming insistence.

With mutual understanding, both parted ways to make some small changes before laying down. Ebenezer loosened his tie and Constance removed her constricting pantyhose, leaving her only in her blouse and pencil skirt. He gave her an impish whistle, and she threw that garment at him playfully.

Using her fiancé’s head as a pillow, she curled up atop his body and nuzzled her face against his shirt. Her ear laid squarely over his heart, where she could hear its steady and strong beat just inches away. Ebenezer moved a hand to the small of her back to not only make sure she stayed in place atop him and didn’t roll off, but to remind her of his presence.

“I’ll watch the door,” he promised, kissing the top of her head. “You sleep. I insist.”

His broad hand gave her waist a reassuring squeeze, hugging her close.

“And I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

>>Hello! You’re reached the voicemail for Constance DoGoode. I’m away from the phone right now, but leave your name and number, and I will return your call as soon as possible. Thank you!

… <BEEP>

<<Sunshine, it’s me. Please, please tell me you’re okay. I need to know you’re safe. I-I’m sorry for calling you over and over, and … fuck, I promise I’ll be there soon, angel. I promise. I love you, okay. I love you so much. I-I’m going to call again. Okay, love you. Please call me.”

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