Brutally Beautiful(34)

We hopped into his brand spanking new hybrid car and drove for a good forty-five minutes with Fran discussing with himself the benefits of driving a fully hybrid electric car. I wished I owned a pair of earplugs. Maybe I could find some at the festival.

“…Some people argue that it seems like an odd dichotomy that a hybrid car that has two energy sources could be better for our environment as opposed to a traditional car that has just one. Now the facts about the hybrid are…”

“STOP! Stop the car!” I yelped gleefully, making Fran swerve into the shoulder of the road. “A STARBUCKS!” I pointed happily, bouncing in his tiny electrical shit box of a car.

Driving into the parking lot, he pulled into the first empty space he saw and placed his hand over his heart. “You almost gave me a heart attack,” he chuckled. “I really thought something was wrong.”

“Something is wrong,” I winked at him. “I haven’t had enough caffeine yet.” Opening the car door, I smiled at him, “Would you like a cup?”

“No, thank you.” He touched his hand to mine, “Didn’t you understand what I said before about drinking too much coffee.”

I stared at him, confused. “Yes, I did.” I blinked my eyes rapidly, trying not to burst out laughing. “I guess I’m just too far gone into my addiction. There’s just no saving me.”

I came back into the car with three coffees, putting my lips to each one in turn, and slurping them loudly. Fran slowly dragged his eyes from me back to his windshield and continued his drive to the street festival he promised to take me to.

Fran was correct about one thing; the street fair was lovely. Antique shops, small novelty stores and a few bed and breakfasts lined the small cobblestoned main street of the quaint nameless town. Old, yet well-maintained Victorian homes littered the twisting back roads and when you drove by, the inhabitants offered you a big wave and a friendly smile. Covered bridges crossed over flowing streams and tents were set up for blocks along the main road of the town, and people milled around laughing and drinking coffee, warm cider, or hot chocolate.

The two of us roamed around the booths. Every once in a while, Fran’s hand made it to the small of my back or his lips found my temple. Every ten minutes, Fran would stop and take a picture with his phone and post it on instagram and twitter like an obsessed teenager. I cut him off after he posed me in front of a booth that sold organic clothing and tweeted a picture of me to his 459 followers that said, “Organic socks rock!”

We found a small intimate restaurant and we were just sitting down to grab a drink at the bar before an early dinner or late lunch, whatever you wanted to call it, when in walked Morgan and an extremely distinguished looking older gentleman. Fran waved them over and offered to share a drink with them, while we waited for our tables since the place was packed. Her faced blanched as the gentlemen she was with agreed, and I looked at her curiously.

He pulled out a chair at the bar for her and she offered a tight smile to us, and a curt serious nod. “This is my husband, Jeremy.” She looked at him with flushed cheeks and continued with her introductions, “Jeremy, dear, this is Francis and Lainey. I met them at a small dinner party I was invited to last night, while you were still away on your business trip.”

Well now, wasn’t that just a dick-slap right there?

Morgan gave a brilliantly flirtatious grin at Fran and batted her lashes at him, “Francis, darling, would you mind if I stole your treasure here to accompany me to the restroom?”

Really? Really now? She just asked a man for permission to have me accompany her to the bathroom? Oh, this ought to be awesome.