Jaded

[43] Matching

I honk twice to let Atty know I'm outside.

The unfortunate encounter with Duke took way longer than I expected so at this point, I know Atty's probably ready to go, meandering near the front door.

He emerges within seconds, so fast that my suspicions are confirmed, he was definitely milling around in the foyer.

Under the early sun, Atty looks absolutely stunning, especially since he's decided to dress up today. The bright red MIT sweatshirt he's sporting contrasts beautifully with his dark grey bomber jacket, not to mention the way the hints of gel in his hair help frame his face.

In one hand he's carrying a basket while in the other he's clutching a breathtaking bouquet of camellias and irises.

As soon as he opens the door, both him and I exclaim at the same time, "we're matching!"

I pause for a moment as he leans towards the backseats to place the flowers safely.

"What matching are you talking about?" he asks.

I gesture to his sweatshirt and my dress, which both happen to be the same shade of red.

"Oh, you're right," he says, as if he didn't even notice the color of my dress.

"If you're not talking about the red, what matching are you seeing?"

Atty flashes a playful grin and lifts up the wicker basket in his hand. He points to the handiwork at the rim and then to my braids.

I burst into laughter and pinch his cheek. "You bastard, my hair looks great."

"Not just hair, all of you. You look happy," he says, wrapping a strand of my hair around his index finger, then tossing it in the air and matching my laughter.

As I pull onto the main road, I let Atty guide me to the correct highway. Once we're on, it's smooth driving for the next fifteen minutes at least.

I gesture to his bouquet in the back and comment, "the flowers are pretty."

Atty offers a soft smile, "Mom loved camellias, Dad preferred irises." He chuckles and adds, "every Sunday morning Dad made sure there was a fresh batch of Camellias waiting for Mom on our dining table."

"His florist must've loved him," I joke.

Atty laughs, "Dad was the florist."

"No way, your dad was a florist?"

"After he got married, yeah."

"And before that?"

"Lumberjack."

Holy crap, that explains so much. If lumberjacks are typically the giants I'm used to seeing, that explains Atty's height and wingspan.

Hmm, I wonder how he'd look in flannel. Ooh, and a beard.

I clear my throat and ask, "what about your mom?"

Atty reaches into the basket and unwraps a sandwich. He offers me one, and when I say no, he proceeds to answer, "Mom was a seamstress. She wanted to open her own dress store."

"Dressmaking? Like Collette?"

He nods, "all those mannequins and machinery in our basement used to be Mom's- she's the one that taught Collette."

Seamstress mom makes a lot of sense too, no wonder he was able to fix the sleeve of my sweater that first week in his house.

I grin, putting two and two together. "So your mom was a seamstress, and your Dad was a florist... and somehow you turned out to be a computer nerd."