Vanilla (4)
Title: Shoelaces
Author: morethanmending
Rating: G
Word Count: 406
Universe: Gone WIP
Characters: John Warner, Abigail Warner
Notes: Written for the flavor "Vanilla" - prompt #04 "I can't believe you (don't) know how to ___".
Summary: Practice makes perfect.
---
Abigail leaned against the dinner table, her left leg extended before her, toes pointed. John sat on his heels and pulled Abigail's foot into his lap. "Can't believe you don't know how to do this," he said, more to himself than her. "Haven't I taught you how to tie your shoelaces?" He looked up at Abigail.
He had. Many times.
She shook her head.
"You sure?" John asked, fingers tying a neat knot, eyes never leaving Abigail's. "Feel like I have. Can't say for certain, but I don't think my memory's that bad quite yet."
Abigail pursed her lips together. "You do it better," she said.
John scoffed. "That's because I have a lot of practice." He patted her foot and set it on the ground. "Which is something you won't get if you keep making me do this." Abigail ignored him and lifted her right foot, but he didn't reach for it, didn't take up the limp laces and twist them together into an elegant bow. "Why don't you try?" he said.
Abigail frowned. His question didn't sound so much like a question as it did a command. "My fingers get all tangled," she complained.
"We'll use some butter and untangle them," John teased.
Abigail scrunched her nose at the thought. "Your bows are prettier," she said.
The corner of John's mouth lifted into a small smile. "Practice makes perfect."
Abigail rolled her eyes. She hated when he said that.
Brushing a hand over the knees of his jeans, he stood, leaving Abigail's right foot hanging. "Finish that up and then meet me outside," John said, heading for the kitchen door.
Abigail watched him go. Through the door window she could see the bright blue sky, tall yellow-green grass waving in the wind. "What if I can't do it?" she asked.
John shrugged, hand on the doorknob as he stepped over the threshold onto the back porch. "Then I guess I know a baby calf who's going to be mighty lonely today while I milk his mama."
Abigail stared at her father, held his gaze for only a second, before dropping to a crouch and hastily tying up her shoe. The bow wasn't perfect and the tails were too long, but it would hold. She wiggled her toes. The shoe felt nice and snug around her foot.
Jumping to her feet she sprinted out the door and into the sunshine, John following close behind her.
---
End.
Author: morethanmending
Rating: G
Word Count: 406
Universe: Gone WIP
Characters: John Warner, Abigail Warner
Notes: Written for the flavor "Vanilla" - prompt #04 "I can't believe you (don't) know how to ___".
Summary: Practice makes perfect.
---
Abigail leaned against the dinner table, her left leg extended before her, toes pointed. John sat on his heels and pulled Abigail's foot into his lap. "Can't believe you don't know how to do this," he said, more to himself than her. "Haven't I taught you how to tie your shoelaces?" He looked up at Abigail.
He had. Many times.
She shook her head.
"You sure?" John asked, fingers tying a neat knot, eyes never leaving Abigail's. "Feel like I have. Can't say for certain, but I don't think my memory's that bad quite yet."
Abigail pursed her lips together. "You do it better," she said.
John scoffed. "That's because I have a lot of practice." He patted her foot and set it on the ground. "Which is something you won't get if you keep making me do this." Abigail ignored him and lifted her right foot, but he didn't reach for it, didn't take up the limp laces and twist them together into an elegant bow. "Why don't you try?" he said.
Abigail frowned. His question didn't sound so much like a question as it did a command. "My fingers get all tangled," she complained.
"We'll use some butter and untangle them," John teased.
Abigail scrunched her nose at the thought. "Your bows are prettier," she said.
The corner of John's mouth lifted into a small smile. "Practice makes perfect."
Abigail rolled her eyes. She hated when he said that.
Brushing a hand over the knees of his jeans, he stood, leaving Abigail's right foot hanging. "Finish that up and then meet me outside," John said, heading for the kitchen door.
Abigail watched him go. Through the door window she could see the bright blue sky, tall yellow-green grass waving in the wind. "What if I can't do it?" she asked.
John shrugged, hand on the doorknob as he stepped over the threshold onto the back porch. "Then I guess I know a baby calf who's going to be mighty lonely today while I milk his mama."
Abigail stared at her father, held his gaze for only a second, before dropping to a crouch and hastily tying up her shoe. The bow wasn't perfect and the tails were too long, but it would hold. She wiggled her toes. The shoe felt nice and snug around her foot.
Jumping to her feet she sprinted out the door and into the sunshine, John following close behind her.
---
End.