Digging for Home

Charlie smiled. "I never thought that. You know, even if you aren't ready for a sixty-nine tonight, I'd still like to see you. Maybe we could do a thirty-four and a half instead?"

There was a pause while Frank did the math. "Thanks, but I can't."

Charlie's dismay was apparent in her voice. "No?"

"No," Frank insisted. "I've decided not to do that any more until I'm willing to reciprocate. It doesn't seem fair."

"It does to me!" Charlie snapped.

"I'm sorry, but I don't want to take advantage of you."

"You're not!"

"That's not how I'd feel about it."

"I see," Charlie nodded with a sigh. "What about coming over anyway? I'm pretty sure I have a Red Sox jersey around here that's overdue to be shredded."

Frank pictured the cloth stretched to its limits by the bounty beneath. "What time?"

Charlie looked at her clock. "How about nine-fifty?"

Frank glanced at his watch. "You mean now?"

"Nine-fifty-five?"

Frank chuckled. "I'll be there in ten minutes. Have you had breakfast?"

"No. Hadn't even gotten out of bed."

"What sounds good to eat?"

"You already nixed that."

"Cute," Frank noted. "What else sounds good?"

"I hadn't thought about it," Charlie said. "What say we work up an appetite until lunch and see what sounds good then?"

"Agreed."

"Agreed. Bye."

"Bye."

Charlie bounced from her bed and hit her shower at a run. She maintained her frenzied pace of preparation for the first nine of the allotted ten minutes. The last minute she spent in her parlor, wearing the Red Sox jersey, and nothing else.

"Mr. Marshall, Milady."

Charlie looked to the parlor clock as it turned over the hour. "Let him in."

Frank strode through the door with a rose between his teeth. With a gentle bow, he whipped the flower from his mouth and presented it to the woman. "I hope this simple token of my affection will do; though I regret I could not find anything as beautiful as you."