Rise And Shine
Luke Taylor is not a morning person. It’s the cutest thing Parker has ever seen.
“Hey, teach,” Parker says, trying to ease him toward consciousness. “Rise and shine. It’s a school day.”
The play of contortions across Luke’s face suggest a half-comatose man suffering from a conflict of signals. On one hand, there is the eroticism factor of the naked blonde in your bed whispering in your ear. On the other hand, the sun is only just beginning to illuminate the god-awful floral wallpaper in the bedroom. (Luke’s small rental house had previously been occupied by an 85 year old lady with fondness for splashy roses.)
In this case, the allergy to morning wins out. Luke flops from his side onto his face, doing a good impression of a man who is attempting to smother himself to death with his own pillow. A series of garbled syllables that might be, “Five more minutes,” comes from the depths of the polyfill.
Parker doesn’t laugh. Much.
“How about ten, and I’ll start the coffee?” she asks, slipping out of bed and feeling around on the floor for articles of clothing.
One of Luke’s hands worms its way out from under the pillow long enough to give the idea a thumb’s up.
Parker finds Luke’s shirt, slipping it on and doing up the buttons. She honestly can’t remember if they closed the blinds last night. And in a town like Coiner, there will be enough gossip generated by the fact that her car has been parked in front of his house all night without accidentally giving any of the neighbors a peep show. “Pancakes?”
The mumble sounds close enough to an affirmative. Besides, Parker’s really in the mood for pancakes.
Parker walks down the short hall and, smothering a yawn, pushes open the swinging door to the kitchen.
Turns out, it’s a really good thing she opted for the shirt.
“Hey, teach,” Parker says, trying to ease him toward consciousness. “Rise and shine. It’s a school day.”
The play of contortions across Luke’s face suggest a half-comatose man suffering from a conflict of signals. On one hand, there is the eroticism factor of the naked blonde in your bed whispering in your ear. On the other hand, the sun is only just beginning to illuminate the god-awful floral wallpaper in the bedroom. (Luke’s small rental house had previously been occupied by an 85 year old lady with fondness for splashy roses.)
In this case, the allergy to morning wins out. Luke flops from his side onto his face, doing a good impression of a man who is attempting to smother himself to death with his own pillow. A series of garbled syllables that might be, “Five more minutes,” comes from the depths of the polyfill.
Parker doesn’t laugh. Much.
“How about ten, and I’ll start the coffee?” she asks, slipping out of bed and feeling around on the floor for articles of clothing.
One of Luke’s hands worms its way out from under the pillow long enough to give the idea a thumb’s up.
Parker finds Luke’s shirt, slipping it on and doing up the buttons. She honestly can’t remember if they closed the blinds last night. And in a town like Coiner, there will be enough gossip generated by the fact that her car has been parked in front of his house all night without accidentally giving any of the neighbors a peep show. “Pancakes?”
The mumble sounds close enough to an affirmative. Besides, Parker’s really in the mood for pancakes.
Parker walks down the short hall and, smothering a yawn, pushes open the swinging door to the kitchen.
Turns out, it’s a really good thing she opted for the shirt.