Charli began to doubt her herself and her research as waiter after waiter emerged from the kitchen, but none were the hunk she saw serving at her best friend’s wedding. She knew they made a connection. He touched her hand, for Pete’s sake. Sure, it was to help her up after she stumbled because she was staring at him, but it counted.
“Excuse me,” she said holding her palm up to stop a waiter. “Is there a waiter with you about six foot-four, curly hair?”
“You mean Johnny. No, he went chasing after some chick he met at a wedding!”
Six chairs encircled Sally’s garden table. One for mother, one for father, one for Louie who would certainly have his uniform neatly pressed just as it was before she shipped off to war. The fourth reserved for the fellow who waited for Louie to leave, of course Louie couldn’t know that. Then two more for the Bridge club ladies. It would be a splendid party.
“How long are you going to let her monopolize the table?” Orderely Hal asked.
The name alone was designed to ward off all-comers. The Black Hand Trail was a harrowing passage between two small villages in the remote part of the country. The only groups that braved the trip were members of the Gamboya and Xollee tribes.
Thirteen miles into the twenty-three mile trail the narrowest part barely allowed a single person. Legend said once two young men met at his choke point. Both tribes were too proud to acquiesce to the other. The young ones held out a hand to stop the other. In the frigid air frostbite soon won out.
Silently the two men slipped through the water fronting the location confirmed to be the destination of their target. They had two lines of instruction: One for rendition and the other for removal. Which it would be was still a moving target. The diplomats were toiling endless hours on the former, but the team favored the cleaner option. Dragging on overweight oligarch across three borders would be no picnic.
Through night vision binoculars they peered at the crowd gathered at a gala in their target’s honor. No question about it, either way would be so messy.
Harmon was the kind of literal guy who often got into disagreements because if you said it was raining cats and dogs he thought Schnauzers and Calicos should be present in his yard. No, he wasn’t simple, just someone who listened.
But then he got this idea to test some of these literal sayings he had heard his whole life.
Marge the wife came home to wood all over their yard one day. Harmon stood beaming as she approached.
“What happened here?” She asked.
“I learned how much wood a woodchuck can chuck,” Harmon said.
For the mother of octuplets there is nothing more stressful than finding eight outfits exactly alike. Carrie wouldn’t have bothered if it weren’t for the contract with the Cosmo Kramer Agency which had all but totally financed her brood’s first decade of life. Sure there was a ton of public appearances and commercials, but how many dollars had they provided?
Carrie’s anxiety faded when she entered the store her friend Elise recommended. She smiled when she saw the stacks of hats before her. Finding eight matching hats would be no trouble this year.
“You want all eight?” the clerk asked.
For those that have answered the call for the Christmas themed flash I mentioned today is the day we begin. You can find the link to the challenge here:
It was the 8th day of December when Sydney finally got her long awaited engagement ring. Zac had to wait until everything was coated in ice to hatch his plan to replicate the scene from her favorite movie. When he called she was eager to respond.
“Are you going to tell me why we have to be out here?” Sydney asked.
Zac couldn’t believe she hadn’t clued in yet. He carefully led her out to the tree and bench where her surprise awaited.
“You know, there is something familiar about this. Oh . . .oh my!” She said when it came together.
Right now I’m in Belize on the backend of a 7 day mission trip, but when I return I will post the details of my Christmas Origin Story Fiction Challenge. All are invited.