another short one
Pistachio #28. Waiting with Sprinkles
Rating : G
Timeframe : summer 1260
I want to write something long, really I do, but school + kids = no time :(
Ilya flopped down on the couch next to Tess, forcefully enough to shake the larger woman. Tess glanced up from the sewing in her lap and raised a brow at her friend.
“Quiet tonight,” said Ilya. There was a slow nod from Tess as she resumed her work. “No Lyssa?”
“Nope,” Tess answered.
The resounding clatter of metal utensils in none too gentle hands escaped the kitchen, breaking the stillness. “Rune?” Ilya asked.
“Baking,” said Tess, with another slow nod.
Ilya sniffed the air. Cinnamon, definitely cinnamon. “Cookies?”
“Mmm-hm.”
Ilya shook her head with a sigh. “Who ever thought Ski would be a bad influence on Lyssa?” There was a snort from Tess and the continued rattling of spoons from the kitchen.
The oven door slammed shut. “Why doesn’t he go with her?”
Tess paused, needle poised in the air, to stare at her. “Would you want to watch a bunch of girls fawning over Dalton?”
A flush crept over her as she considered even the remote possibility of another woman coming anywhere near her husband. Her fists curled with the desire to strike the faceless figment of her own imagination. “Why, if Dalton-” she started. “I simply would not allow such a thing!”
Needle and thread dove back into cloth and Tess laughed. “Lyssa is not Dalton.”
The clatter continued and Ilya sighed. “Poor Rune.”
Rating : G
Timeframe : summer 1260
I want to write something long, really I do, but school + kids = no time :(
Ilya flopped down on the couch next to Tess, forcefully enough to shake the larger woman. Tess glanced up from the sewing in her lap and raised a brow at her friend.
“Quiet tonight,” said Ilya. There was a slow nod from Tess as she resumed her work. “No Lyssa?”
“Nope,” Tess answered.
The resounding clatter of metal utensils in none too gentle hands escaped the kitchen, breaking the stillness. “Rune?” Ilya asked.
“Baking,” said Tess, with another slow nod.
Ilya sniffed the air. Cinnamon, definitely cinnamon. “Cookies?”
“Mmm-hm.”
Ilya shook her head with a sigh. “Who ever thought Ski would be a bad influence on Lyssa?” There was a snort from Tess and the continued rattling of spoons from the kitchen.
The oven door slammed shut. “Why doesn’t he go with her?”
Tess paused, needle poised in the air, to stare at her. “Would you want to watch a bunch of girls fawning over Dalton?”
A flush crept over her as she considered even the remote possibility of another woman coming anywhere near her husband. Her fists curled with the desire to strike the faceless figment of her own imagination. “Why, if Dalton-” she started. “I simply would not allow such a thing!”
Needle and thread dove back into cloth and Tess laughed. “Lyssa is not Dalton.”
The clatter continued and Ilya sighed. “Poor Rune.”