Older 'n Dirt [for Anrai]

[rein_it_in]

She's laughing as she leaves the room, having occupied Anrai with some silly internet toy for a few minutes at least. Laine only wants her husband distracted long enough for her to finish wrapping his birthday presents. Slap a few bows on them really and sign the card. Everything else, she managed to do the night before.

Happy Birthday, Darlin'. I

Comments

[thehorseman]

"If you're referring to the giggle-squad I encounter at the store and football games, they certainly have," Anraí mutters, giving his laptop screen a look half annoyed, half amused. "I'm very much hoping that some of them left more than one 'kiss', because otherwise there may be more of them than I thought." Seventeen messages less Laine, Cait and Margene ... ye god.

His expression shifts to a warm smile as he accepts Laine's gifts and moves them to his other side. "Thank you, lover. Come on up here." After patting the spot next to him on the bed in invitation, he opens the card, chuckling at the lip print and the written sentiment. "I hate to break it to you, a chroí, but your average dirt is rather older than 123 years."

His eyes sparkle with curiosity as he opens the wrapping on the top gift. What exactly did she decide on?

[rein_it_in]

Laine does as he asked, scooting up to lean against the headboard, tucking a pillow behind her back before tilting her head to give his computer a brief glance. "That ain't so bad considerin' I think half the rah-rah gal's wish you were their boyfriend, darlin'."

She rolls her eyes as he remarks on his age. "It's the thought that counts, Anraí." Moving discarded wrapping paper, she leans closer to her husband as he opens the box containing a Stetson felt hat, black with a simple band. "Though maybe it was about time you started to dress like you actually live here."

[thehorseman]

"Well, now." Anraí looks the hat over, smiling all the while. He likes its simplicity and the fact that it was obviously designed to be functional as well as good-looking.

Apparently Laine is encouraging him to go native. He has no objections.

He puts on the hat and cocks it at a jaunty angle. "Is it me?"

[rein_it_in]

She gives him a look, not necessarily amused, and then snorts as she pushes the hat forward and pulls the brim down, effectively hiding his face. Laughing, she offers, "I'd say it's just about perfect like that, darlin'."

Leaving it up to him if he wants to reseat the hat properly or not, Laine shrugs. "I wouldn't have picked it out if I didn't think it was you. I know you ain't got much use for it now, but trust me, once spring rolls around and we get hit with rain instead of snow, you'll be glad to have the thing. Ain't much worse than riding fences in the rain and havin' all that water in your face or runnin' down the back of your neck."