candlewax & polaroids on the hardwood floor
Flora lets out a scandalized gasp, one hand clutching dramatically at the neckline of her shirt like he’s just offended her to the core. ""Lace and mesh are absolutely clothing. They’re just clothing with intentions." Her grin is razor-sharp, shameless. "As for tassel pants..." She lets her eyes drift meaningfully over his face, voice dipping just enough to be wicked. "You’d figure it out fast enough if you saw them in action."
The wink that follows is pure, unrepentant chaos, and she stirs her spoon slowly through the last surviving island of strawberry ice cream like she hasn’t just said something wildly inappropriate before the sun has even properly set yet.
His snort makes her grin widen, and she tilts her head, resting one elbow on the counter to face him more directly. Her knee nudges gently against his under the counter, noticing the way his gaze avoids her mouth, the way it skips to the melting mess of sugar and cream on the counter. It’s flattering, in that quiet way some things are, and maybe it’s the late hour or the warmth in her belly, but she doesn’t push it or mercilessly tease him for it the way he probably deserves.
Then he’s asking about snack wishes, and Flora levels him with a look that’s far too innocent. "Obviously I wish for a second scoop of the one you stole," she huffs. "But if you’re really feeling generous… there’s a bag of caramel chips in the pantry that might be calling my name. Or whispering it seductively. Jury’s out. Also some whiskey and maple syrup that goes amazingly well on vanilla." She twirls her spoon between her fingers like a baton. "If you're feeling extra heroic, you could get me all three." One might have thought Flora achieved the body she had by eating like a rabbit, but it was actually the several hard and long runs she went on across the sands that did it, a large motivation of which being so she could eat whatever she wanted.
The wink that follows is pure, unrepentant chaos, and she stirs her spoon slowly through the last surviving island of strawberry ice cream like she hasn’t just said something wildly inappropriate before the sun has even properly set yet.
His snort makes her grin widen, and she tilts her head, resting one elbow on the counter to face him more directly. Her knee nudges gently against his under the counter, noticing the way his gaze avoids her mouth, the way it skips to the melting mess of sugar and cream on the counter. It’s flattering, in that quiet way some things are, and maybe it’s the late hour or the warmth in her belly, but she doesn’t push it or mercilessly tease him for it the way he probably deserves.
Then he’s asking about snack wishes, and Flora levels him with a look that’s far too innocent. "Obviously I wish for a second scoop of the one you stole," she huffs. "But if you’re really feeling generous… there’s a bag of caramel chips in the pantry that might be calling my name. Or whispering it seductively. Jury’s out. Also some whiskey and maple syrup that goes amazingly well on vanilla." She twirls her spoon between her fingers like a baton. "If you're feeling extra heroic, you could get me all three." One might have thought Flora achieved the body she had by eating like a rabbit, but it was actually the several hard and long runs she went on across the sands that did it, a large motivation of which being so she could eat whatever she wanted.
