Hello, hello again. Shaboom shaboom. So I'm back with a new... whatever this is I think I'm doing. A new, slow-starting piece that I'm pretty sure will be a cheesey piece of fanfic by the end of it. Meh. Such is life. So here goes hoping I don't offend, fuck shit up or make the true fangirls/fanboys mad...
~~~***~~~
Solange Lloyd sang into the broom handle, not caring who heard. She was home alone, anyway, and on a Saturday night at that. Her neighbors were probably all out. Being somewhat introverted, no matter how good she got at hiding it, had stunted her social life. So she stuck to singing as she swept up in her tiny coffehouse, just a few minutes after closing. The rest of her night would consist of getting in some time on the boards before she took a few hours to practice her instruments. That's what she had planned, at least.
Her voice faltered in the near dim light as she looked up to see a very tall figure at the storefront window. Her cheeks tingled crimson as her vision adjusted to the shadowed reflections on the inside and the night cloaked reality outside.
"Can I help you, sir?" Solé walked closer to the window, praying he hadn't seen or heard her personal concert. She thought she had an okay voice, but was certain she'd not be in the top 8 of American Idol in this lifetime, regardless what her close knit circle said.
"You have a lovely voice," the man purred. His voice sounded so close, deep and rich and clear, even given the thickness of the shatter-resistant glass, as if he were just beside her sharing the quiet of her little Chestnut Hill corner.
"Uh-hoh, you saw that...," she trailed off, her voice a nervous laugh.
"Yes, I did." He smiled at her then, and Solé felt her heart tumble into her stomach. He seemed aware of his effect on her, and mercifully continued. "I was hoping you could tell me where I could find South Broad Street, my driver seems a bit," he paused, his brow furrowing as if trying to find the right word, "...new."
It was at the mention of a driver that Solé thought to get a good look at something other than his face. He was, in her opinion at least, the best example of 'tall, dark, and handsome'. She couldn't venture a precise guess at his height, but he seemed to dwarf her 5'6" frame. His slightly long dark hair was slicked back and he was elegantly dressed, which made her wonder what was on Broad Street that he was going to. His cerulean gaze narrowed as she blatantly appraised him from the other side of the window before belatedly remembering herself.
"Sorry, so sorry. Didn't mean to stare," Solé blurted as she set her broom aside and unlocked the door to him.
He had the nerve to smile knowingly at her as she stepped aside to let him in, which made him more appealing, if that were possible. More appealing in a dangerous way. 'Dangerous to my battery stock,' she thought to herself. He made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a snort of derision, as if he'd heard her.
"If you've got a minute I can write down directions. Please, come in."
"Thank you. That would be very generous."
Solé shut the door behind him as he walked a few feet past her, leaving a thin veil of designer cologne in his wake. She turned to the bar and leaned forward to hop up and grab some paper and a pen. She settled her feet back on the floor, blowing at a few loose strands of her hair as she wrote out a list of directions. When she was done, she turned to find him looking at her oddly which made her realize how she must look: ratty Spider Man Chucks, black tights, an oversized green sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder and covered by a Holy Star Trinity (-Gate, Trek, Wars) apron and her hair in a complete shitshow of disarray. Figured she'd be looking like Cinderella's understudy when in the presence of another grown up of exceeding aesthetic proclivity. 'Dah well,' she thought to herself again. 'He's out of my league anyway'.
"Okay, here ya go, directions to South Broad. Not sure if you'll need to park, but there's plenty of lots and street space if you do."
He smiled again and took the paper from her, their fingers grazing just slightly with a tinge of static electricity. He read through the directions before he spoke again.
"'Solé's Little Coffee Shop'. Cute. So you must be Solé?"
Solange nodded and blushed, so transfixed by his elegance that she didn't realize until she looked away from him and down at her feet that she was backpedaling as he advanced, slowly crowding her into the bar. There must have been fear in her eyes when their gazes met again, as he stopped, a sheepish grin on his face that allayed suspicion. He gave a slight bow, something that seemed an out of place action for him, stepped back and reached for her right hand.
"Good lady, thank you for your assistance, it is much appreciated."
His fingertips were cool where they rested beneath her palm. He lifted her hand to his lips, tilting down slightly and placing a delicate kiss to her knuckles. Solange don't know how she stayed upright or kept her hands to herself. His lips were so soft and warm, and all she wanted to do was shove her fingers through his hair to see and hear him moan as her fingertips caressed his scalp. His hair looked like warm espresso, and she now had an urgent need to know if the strands would pour as easily over her fingers.
He straightened, returning her arm and hand, with that odd look again that she was starting to find not so troubling. His smile took its time appearing, and Solé knew she'd have no trouble finding inspiration tonight.
He took a step back and she realized she knew nothing about this seemingly refined and sophisticated stranger she had let into her bar so late. Not even a name. She found herself trying to guess at one as she smiled graciously herself and accepted his thanks. Judging by his accent, cadence and vocabulary, he probably didn't have a name that smoothly followed 'oh, god, fuck me', like Trent or Mark.
He seemed to be reading her thoughts again, and she had to wonder if she had said any of that last bit out loud. His voice, now slightly more upbeat than necessary, broke her from her thoughts.
"Well, I should get going if we wish to arrive on time. Thank you again, Solange."
He stepped back and let her pass to open the door. As he crossed the threshold, he turned back and gave a slight nod, with the hint of a knowing glance and telling smile, before pulling the door closed and telling her to lock up against the dangers of nighttime in Philadelphia. Then he strolled over to the open car door and got in. Solé watched and sighed as the taillights disappeared down the street. A few awkward and bittersweet moments and back to being a pumpkin.
"Story of my life," she shrugged as she took broom in hand again and began singing the Leeann Womack tune. "Insanely hot dude stops for directions and of course, he's probably got some trophy waiting for him in the car. Asi es la vida, Mama."
She took no notice of the fact that he used her full name without her having mentioned it, or the faint cerulean-green orbs seemingly watching her from just beyond the farthest window...
~~~***~~~
Solange Lloyd sang into the broom handle, not caring who heard. She was home alone, anyway, and on a Saturday night at that. Her neighbors were probably all out. Being somewhat introverted, no matter how good she got at hiding it, had stunted her social life. So she stuck to singing as she swept up in her tiny coffehouse, just a few minutes after closing. The rest of her night would consist of getting in some time on the boards before she took a few hours to practice her instruments. That's what she had planned, at least.
Her voice faltered in the near dim light as she looked up to see a very tall figure at the storefront window. Her cheeks tingled crimson as her vision adjusted to the shadowed reflections on the inside and the night cloaked reality outside.
"Can I help you, sir?" Solé walked closer to the window, praying he hadn't seen or heard her personal concert. She thought she had an okay voice, but was certain she'd not be in the top 8 of American Idol in this lifetime, regardless what her close knit circle said.
"You have a lovely voice," the man purred. His voice sounded so close, deep and rich and clear, even given the thickness of the shatter-resistant glass, as if he were just beside her sharing the quiet of her little Chestnut Hill corner.
"Uh-hoh, you saw that...," she trailed off, her voice a nervous laugh.
"Yes, I did." He smiled at her then, and Solé felt her heart tumble into her stomach. He seemed aware of his effect on her, and mercifully continued. "I was hoping you could tell me where I could find South Broad Street, my driver seems a bit," he paused, his brow furrowing as if trying to find the right word, "...new."
It was at the mention of a driver that Solé thought to get a good look at something other than his face. He was, in her opinion at least, the best example of 'tall, dark, and handsome'. She couldn't venture a precise guess at his height, but he seemed to dwarf her 5'6" frame. His slightly long dark hair was slicked back and he was elegantly dressed, which made her wonder what was on Broad Street that he was going to. His cerulean gaze narrowed as she blatantly appraised him from the other side of the window before belatedly remembering herself.
"Sorry, so sorry. Didn't mean to stare," Solé blurted as she set her broom aside and unlocked the door to him.
He had the nerve to smile knowingly at her as she stepped aside to let him in, which made him more appealing, if that were possible. More appealing in a dangerous way. 'Dangerous to my battery stock,' she thought to herself. He made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a snort of derision, as if he'd heard her.
"If you've got a minute I can write down directions. Please, come in."
"Thank you. That would be very generous."
Solé shut the door behind him as he walked a few feet past her, leaving a thin veil of designer cologne in his wake. She turned to the bar and leaned forward to hop up and grab some paper and a pen. She settled her feet back on the floor, blowing at a few loose strands of her hair as she wrote out a list of directions. When she was done, she turned to find him looking at her oddly which made her realize how she must look: ratty Spider Man Chucks, black tights, an oversized green sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder and covered by a Holy Star Trinity (-Gate, Trek, Wars) apron and her hair in a complete shitshow of disarray. Figured she'd be looking like Cinderella's understudy when in the presence of another grown up of exceeding aesthetic proclivity. 'Dah well,' she thought to herself again. 'He's out of my league anyway'.
"Okay, here ya go, directions to South Broad. Not sure if you'll need to park, but there's plenty of lots and street space if you do."
He smiled again and took the paper from her, their fingers grazing just slightly with a tinge of static electricity. He read through the directions before he spoke again.
"'Solé's Little Coffee Shop'. Cute. So you must be Solé?"
Solange nodded and blushed, so transfixed by his elegance that she didn't realize until she looked away from him and down at her feet that she was backpedaling as he advanced, slowly crowding her into the bar. There must have been fear in her eyes when their gazes met again, as he stopped, a sheepish grin on his face that allayed suspicion. He gave a slight bow, something that seemed an out of place action for him, stepped back and reached for her right hand.
"Good lady, thank you for your assistance, it is much appreciated."
His fingertips were cool where they rested beneath her palm. He lifted her hand to his lips, tilting down slightly and placing a delicate kiss to her knuckles. Solange don't know how she stayed upright or kept her hands to herself. His lips were so soft and warm, and all she wanted to do was shove her fingers through his hair to see and hear him moan as her fingertips caressed his scalp. His hair looked like warm espresso, and she now had an urgent need to know if the strands would pour as easily over her fingers.
He straightened, returning her arm and hand, with that odd look again that she was starting to find not so troubling. His smile took its time appearing, and Solé knew she'd have no trouble finding inspiration tonight.
He took a step back and she realized she knew nothing about this seemingly refined and sophisticated stranger she had let into her bar so late. Not even a name. She found herself trying to guess at one as she smiled graciously herself and accepted his thanks. Judging by his accent, cadence and vocabulary, he probably didn't have a name that smoothly followed 'oh, god, fuck me', like Trent or Mark.
He seemed to be reading her thoughts again, and she had to wonder if she had said any of that last bit out loud. His voice, now slightly more upbeat than necessary, broke her from her thoughts.
"Well, I should get going if we wish to arrive on time. Thank you again, Solange."
He stepped back and let her pass to open the door. As he crossed the threshold, he turned back and gave a slight nod, with the hint of a knowing glance and telling smile, before pulling the door closed and telling her to lock up against the dangers of nighttime in Philadelphia. Then he strolled over to the open car door and got in. Solé watched and sighed as the taillights disappeared down the street. A few awkward and bittersweet moments and back to being a pumpkin.
"Story of my life," she shrugged as she took broom in hand again and began singing the Leeann Womack tune. "Insanely hot dude stops for directions and of course, he's probably got some trophy waiting for him in the car. Asi es la vida, Mama."
She took no notice of the fact that he used her full name without her having mentioned it, or the faint cerulean-green orbs seemingly watching her from just beyond the farthest window...
