#thread: all

Buffy doesn’t eat carbs. Like ever. So it would be a shock to anyone that knows her (not that anyone really does, most of her friendships are not that deep) to see her walking into Rose’s bakery for the third time in one week like she has any intention of eating her purchases. But she’s not really here for the baked goods, is she?

The bell over the door announces her presence she doesn’t have to do it herself, and she’s happy to find the storefront is empty save for the one person she did come here to see. “Um, Miles,” she says like it’s some surprise she’s running in him here. At his place of employment. “It smells so good in here today. Yummy!” 

Courtney quit. The pushover with an empty social calendar who she could always count on to cover her when she needed an emergency spa day. Apparently, she was ‘moving to pursue a higher education’ or whatever, and honestly? How selfish. But it was whatever. Sander’s Bay was full of Courtneys, it’s not like she’d be hard to replace or anything, Buffy jus needed to pout about it first. And nobody validated her feelings (as silly and shallow as they may be) than her little baker prince. 

“Miles,” she draws his name out, really exaggerating the pout on her lips as she waits for him to acknowledge her. “Courtney quit,” a beat, brows furrowing. Or was her name Stephanie? She shakes her head, whatever. “And like, right at the beginning of summer, I mean how am I supposed to take an extra-long weekend? This is a disaster! I need carbs, stat!”

It’s super fucking inappropriate, probably. Like she’s sure if she asked Stella if it was wrong to lust after her ex-girlfriend's older brother she’d give her a list of professionals to seek for help -- and honestly? She wouldn’t be off base. Bobbie’s sure she could spend hours on a couch lamenting about all the chips on her shoulder, but at the end of it all she’d still probably (definitely) want to fuck Max so like... it is what it is. 

He’s right there, and she’s got just enough liquid courage in her system to take their flirtation offline and that’s cool, right? That’s still on the decent human being side of the fine line they’ve been dancing. 

“Hey, dumbass,” she smirks, tipping her drink towards him. “I guess your kinda caliente como mierda or something.”

Oh, she definitely butchered that, but thank fuck she’s not being graded on her Spanish. 

Buffy’s pouting, something she doesn’t typically allow herself to do because now that she’s been put on a budget and can no longer afford her faves in skincare she can’t risk excessive facial expressions for fear of causing wrinkles. But today, she allows herself to pout because her favorite little baker isn’t in his usual spot and that simply won’t do!! Who she does spot is his sister -- Marnie or Mary... Macklin? ... Were there two of them? Honestly, it was a lot to keep up with! 

She settles on, “um, hey cutie!! Staff’s kind of short today, huh?” This time when she pouts it’s for dramatic effect. “Big bummer!!”

"For fuck’s sake,” Bobbie curses as hands, slathered in sunblock, fail to reach that one sport in the middle of her back. The area 54 of human anatomy -- elusive, impossible to get to (unless you’re a contortionist) and no doubt full of secrets. Her gaze fixates on the only other person within shouting range and she zeroes in. “Hey, Miles, right?” A Rose, she thinks. He definitely has that signature Disney character thing going for him so she figures she’s right. “Give me a hand?” She gestures with her own sunblock slick ones to the spot she needs him. 

I’ve found god, I’ve prayed and I’ve been ignored.

“You’re here with daddy and uncle Abram?”

“And Natasha. But let’s not talk about that.” Brighton tells me with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I’m gonna get a puppy.”

Setting her down, I take her tiny hand and guide her back to where my feet don’t want to go. Gut turns into fist and I swallow my pride like a blade.

“Look who I found,” says Brighton proudly, “Auntie Elise, will you help me pick one out? I want them all.”

I do my best not to look at Abram—but it’s hard when his five o’clock shadow peaks out a little early and when he brushes his hair out of his eyes—I  follow the pattern of his tattoos, wishing to just see a little more­—no !

Snapping out of it I turn back to Brighton, kneel beside her in front of a gate as she reaches her hand through the space. She giggle as two puppies begin to lap at her feverishly.

“Daddy can I get one? Please?” The rumblings of a temper-tantrum tangles her vocal cords as Brody stutters out his same answer, “Please!” She screeches again and I stand up, her face deepens and my lipstick smudge blends well into her new tone.

“She hasn’t had a nap today,” says Brody apologetically, “Ellie always does that.”

A small laugh bubbles up my throat, “I guess she was too busy getting ready for her date tonight.”

“Date?” Brody’s arm tenses around Brighton, “she’s going on a date?” I nod and he clears his throat, from beside him Abram shakes his head, “Poor guy.” He says in the sort of way that means fuck my life.

Natasha rejoins us, amusement settles into her thin lips and she takes a drink of her newly acquired coffee, “This is cute,” she says, “We’re kind of like on a double date—right?”

I knew girls like Natasha growing up—I was girls like Natasha growing up.

“You’re not really my type,” I tell her with a curt smile.  The intentional misunderstanding of her joke makes her cheeks darken.

“No Stassi?” I ask Abram as he and I walk ahead of the other three. Brighton jumps from Brody’s arms to run toward us, grabbing both of our hands, she holds them tightly as we maneuver through the bodies. “This seems like her sort of thing. Puppies and sunshine, I think I even saw a rainbow.”

He laughs.

A moment passes—a brief breath where Abram and I look at each other and I see that he has what he always deserved. He never needed to stand in my storm. I smile mournfully at him before tearing my eyes away.

“That’s mine.”

We say it in unison, each pointing in the same direction.

“Abram Dyer, I saw him first.” I say defensively.

“I don’t think so, Elise Allaire.” He reaches down, picks Brighton up, and runs toward the gate.

Rude, I think as I slip out of my heels and run behind him. Gravel digs into my feet, but the discomfort is worth the hammering in my chest.

Abram’s already talking to a woman by the time I make it to him, doubled over and breathing heavily. He sets Brighton against his knee, pointing in the direction of the german shepherd in the corner. Curled against him is a beautiful husky that protectively peaks her head up at the commotion.

“—she’s two years old, trained and kid friendly,” she woman looks down at Brighton and then up at me, “so you and your wife don’t have to worry about any danger—,” she continues speaking. I take a careful glance at Abram who doesn’t correct the woman, doesn’t glance my way and instead just lets her continue talking.

“I’d love to adopt her,” Abram tells the woman and I feel hot hair deflate in my chest. “I’ve always wanted a husky—she’d be a good running buddy.”

“You don’t want the—,” I point toward the dogs. When she’s done filling out papers with him, I point toward her companion, “What about the other? Are they adopted.”

She shakes her head, “No. He’s three years old, protective—but thinks he’s a lap dog. Can your house fit two dogs…?”

“She’s not ours,” I tap the top of Brighton’s head, “Oh no, we just thought she was cute and decided—why not!” From my right side Abram stifles a laugh, “I’m kidding, she’s our niece. But we’re not—he and I aren’t…”

The woman nods.

“Does he have a name already?”

“Alfred,” she says, “his owner was an elderly man who couldn’t take care of him anymore. But he named him Alfred—you can change it though.”

“I think I like it.”

I finish signing the papers necessary, hold the adoption packet under my arm and slip my shoes back on.

As they leash up the dogs, she looks nervously between Abram and I, “I should mention—since they were put together the two of them have sort of been….inseparable. I’m sure they can be trained out of it, but I just wanted to warn you.

/ / / / /

( texts : ellie )

I hate you. Literally, I hate you.

That’s fine, hate me. But hate me in love.

What did you think was going to happen? That we were going to confess our love over puppies?

Maybe.

Or at least a hot make out session.

Natasha was there.

Ugh. She’s like a herpe.

Spending the night here with him tonight. So we can’t get coffee tomorrow

Ooh, sleep over already? Get it girl.

When can I meet him?

Did you tell Brody about my date? He told me he thinks Brighton has a fever and that we need to meet at the hospital.

Two can play your game, Ellie Hughes.

I told him I’m drunk, that Brighton’s fine just give her children’s motrin.

He said he’d come get me.

Fml.

Why are we friends?

:)

/ / / / /

Her quiet moans fill the bedroom and from between her legs I beg her not to go, London is so far away I tell her. What I don’t say is that there is a fire burning deep in my chest—if she leaves I’m afraid it’ll spread and take down the whole of me. Hot breath tickling her thigh, Laney wiggles against the bed, pressing her hips up, my name lingers on her tongue which is bit delicately between front teeth.

I kiss the smooth skin of her thigh, fingers sliding into her underwear. I bite softly, then a little harder—quickly Laney sits up, presses her knees together and scowls at me, “What was that?”

“Get mad at me.”

“What?” She laughs, running a hand through unkempt hair. “Are you feeling alright Elise—first that dog—,”

“Alfred.”

“First Alfred and now you’re asking me to be mad at you?”

“Laney!” I sit up on my knees, naked and vulnerable sinking into my skin, beading off like sweat. “Get angry with me! Throw me around like a rag doll, push me against the wall—,” I reach for her hands wrap them around my neck, “choke me. For twenty minutes just fuck me like you hate me.”

She stares back at me, confusion and worry tangle together her features and she sighs, “I would never.” Pulling her hands out of mine, she cups my cheeks, tenderly kisses my lips and laughs, “I would never hurt you,” she says, “That isn’t love.”

A sigh builds up in my chest, loads itself but never fires. Instead I smile a demure little thing that shows no teeth. I kiss her forehead and lay back down next to her, eyes unmoving from the gap in my curtain, squinting just slightly into Abram’s room next door, pitch black I hold my breath for  a light—something that tells me that he’s up too, just as unhappy.

/ / / /

In the morning Laney is gone, there’s a next that tells me she’s boarded the plane and that she loves me. Instead of replying I shower and take Alfred for a walk on the beach.

When the sun is up, I’m okay. The large house feels lived in and with Fred’s constantly wired energy I know I’m not alone. However, when the sun settles into the horizon and the traffic on the beach clears nervousness creeps in.

( texts : ellie )

I don’t think watching Us and eating Chinese was the best idea for when I’m home alone.

Oh my god.

What was that sound!? Alfred’s been barking at the back door for 15 minutes.

No one’s going to kill you.

So you think.

Leave me something fun in your will. Your shoe collection.

I groan and throw my phone face down on the couch. A slamming door upstairs makes me scream and I call for Alfred. Just as we reach for the front door and pull it open Abram is halfway opening it.

“Are you okay?”

My chest rises and falls rapidly, “How did you—I think there’s a—Oh my god. How did you know?”

He holds up his phone, “Ellie texted me. Said you were getting murdered and to grab your shoes. But then I heard you scream.”

I roll my eyes, “No way.”

“So you’re fine?