A quiet but indomitable voice behind me said, “I believe this is my dance.” It was him. I could feel his presence. The warmth of him seeped into my back, and I quivered all over like spring leaves in a warm breeze.
He studied my appearance carefully. “You cut your hair.” “Yes. Do you like it?” “That depends. How long is it?” I pulled a curl down and showed him it ended just past my shoulder. He grunted, “That’s still long enough, so I like it.” “Long enough for what?” “Long enough for a man to run his hands through.
You didn’t think I’d let you go alone, did you?” “No, but I’m grateful that I had you with me.” “Grateful is all I’m going to get, isn’t it?” “What else were you hoping for?” “Adoration, devotion, affection, infatuation, or just plain finding me irresistible.” “Sorry, Don Juan. You’ll have to live with my undying gratitude.
A girl can still admire, can’t she? Even those who can’t afford to go in the store can still window-shop. Right? Knowing he wasn’t for me didn’t mean I couldn’t covet the merchandise.
(...)normalcy is an illusion. Each person is utterly unique. A standard of normalcy is something that most people of the world simply will never access.
Don’t make a feller wait too long. A feller waiting on a gal can get ornery’er than a huntin’ dog that’s tree’d it’s squirrel.
