Make Me

The storm had announced itself on the Weather app, a slight buzz indicating a nearing potential threat of a red streak on the radar...a 90% chance of a system moving north by northeast across the little blue dot indicating where they currently were.

Currently were.  An odd place...a whim actually...an Airbnb that randomly popped up in an Instagram feed with a front porch worth sharing a few nights upon...it wasn't a beach...it wasn't near water...rather it was in the woods and looked out over some rolling hills some might call mountains in the South.

We need to go here...it was sent as a text and he was involved in a customer call so he glanced at it and went back to work...driving home he remembered her link and opened it while driving...he kind of tucked it away in the back of his mind.

She sent him another text the next day...a simple one...a single question mark.  He remembered and clicked on the link...the house was remote, it wasn't near a beach...but it had an amazing large porch with rocking chairs.

He texted back:  ok



The storm was a full on throat-barreled semi hurricane...a thunder and lightning event that featured torrential rain and over flowing gutters...

make me a drink

He was inside towel drying the last of the dinner dishes, slight music from a Sonos system in the house and he thought he heard her.

So he walked outside to the porch, where the gale was blowing...she was gently rocking, taking in the storm...she looked relaxed, her hair curling a bit in the humidity of 100%...she was barefoot in jeans and a tee shirt, no bra...also known as his favorite outfit.

could you make me a drink please?

Her voice is a note in his mind that impacts certain parts of his brain...the pleasure notes, seratonin, memories from the past...it has a husk of southern wrapping, a bit of a lower octave like he's being told a secret.  He, of course, is instantly compliant.

what are we feeling tonight?  The wind has diminished and the rain feels less intrusive...the time between lighting and thunder is growing...the storm is moving off.

bourbon.  A perfect drink for her.  She will drink it with a lot of ice.  It will warm her a little in the cooling air but it will also soften her. 

He goes to the bag that they brought and he has hidden a nice rare antique...a Pappy Van Winkle 12.  She doesn't know he brought it...knows he had it though. 

He only uses one ice cube because you cannot do that to Pappy.

Here you go, pretty.

She takes it from him...her eyes very dark in the evening...he feels their weight as he feels it every time she lingers upon him.

thank you.

She always sniffs the glass, just above the rim...it's like her hands are wrapped around a small fire.

hmmmm...this smells delicious.   She takes a first tentative sip..then looks up at him.

what is this?

never mind what it is

no really



it's the 12 year old.

pappy?

Yes.

You brought it here?

Yes.

But it is only for special occasions I thought?





And so it is.  He looked out over the streaming rain, her quiet smile in the dark, the curled ends of her hair, and remembered how special she truly was.