Top of the World (War romance story)

Chapter Ten (Part Two)

Here goes nothing! The next installment. Please comment and vote. I appreciate the feedback more than you'll ever know! x

FYI, I've decided to incorporate some 30s/40s slang and pop culture references to make it feel more true to the era.

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Abby

Friday, June 9, 1939

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I scrambled from room to room, scanning the area for any imperfections, coming up dry. If Dottie was in charge, you could count on perfection.

Fine china decorated the lavish dining room table. Our house featured a formal dining room, reserved for special occasions such as holidays, birthdays, business meetings, and parties, and the informal one, situated to the left of the kitchen, was for daily use.

The mahogany table glistened beneath the glow of the chandelier, shining like a new penny. Candles were lit in the center of the table held in antique candle holders made of glass, and the tablecloth was my mother's great aunt's, white in color, with not one stain or tear.

I checked the clock, noticing the big hand on the eleven. I rushed towards the foyer, stopping to gaze in the golden framed mirror. I fluffed up my hair, made double sure there wasn't lipstick on my teeth, and opened the door. I made it a priority to accompany Hudson into the house instead of having him fight nerves and a stomach full of butterflies by himself. We could do that together.

I strolled out onto the porch, heels clanking on the wooden slats. I inhaled deeply, intoxicated by the scent of fresh honeysuckle and the sweet smell of summer. I leaned against the wooden post and waited no longer than two minutes before I heard the grumble of a car engine come to a halt along our curb.

My head snapped towards Hudson's direction, watching him exit the car and nervously stuff his hands into the pockets of his slacks. I met him halfway on the brick walkway and gave him a smile, taken aback by his appearance. His brawny, broad build was eclipsed by a black suit with tapered pants and pinstripes. He wore a crisp white undershirt, and his messy, boyish hair was slicked back with pomade, giving it a black hue. Clear down from his shiny loafers to the Windsor knot of his tie, he was the epitome of handsome.

"You look..." I fought for words, furrowing my brow, admiring this dapper man standing before me. I couldn't find a single imperfection, no matter how hard I tried. I always admired a man who could look good in a suit or overalls. From husky to classy, like one of my favorite actors, Gary Cooper.

"Like Cary Grant?" He finished, smirking.

"Better," I said, exhaling a harsh breath, "and I thought he couldn't be topped."

"And you my dear," he lifted my hand that lay idle at my side and cradled it in his, "look better than all the stars above. And that's saying something."

I laughed, "Gee, that was real corny... but, thank you. I do clean up nice, don't I?" I took a step back, twirling my dress for him, and he applauded me. I gave him a playful curtsy, and he said in brilliant vibrato, "Bravo, my dear!"

"And what about you?" I said, extending my hand towards him, as if I were showing him off to an invisible audience, "Mr. Hudson Lane, better looking than Cary Grant!"

"And more dashing than Errol Flynn?" He asked.

"More dashing than Errol Flynn and Clark Gable." I corrected.

He extended his arm towards me, and I linked mine with his, and we strode towards the door. "You know, you really do look amazing," he leaned forward, whispering in my ear. His breath tickled my neck and made my cheeks flare a deep, vibrant red, like I had put on ten pounds of rouge. I thanked him under my breath as we eased towards the open door, taunting us, awaiting our arrival.