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Not the Sun	By : CeeCee Category: Comics > Archie & Co. Views: 6276 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Archie & Co, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Author’s Note: This pairing came to me one day out of the blue. Feel free to think I’m nuts, but no flames, please!
His beefy, broad hand dwarfed the tiny mobile phone as he scrolled through his missed calls. Three from Dilly. One text reminding him of his biology quiz and to bring his vocabulary list for senior review tomorrow. His extracurriculars were great, Dilton explained; he still needed a decent score on his SAT. One from his mom. Hey, sweetie. Could you pick up a gallon of milk on your way home? Moose automatically put on his blinker as he approached the four-way stop. He split his attention between the road and his messages. One from Andrews. Kinda need a ride to practice, if you get this soon enough. Ol’ Bets needs a new battery. Peace, dude. “Geez.” One more thing to remember for tomorrow. Like he didn’t have enough on his plate. Or on his mind. One wrong number. Twice. He pressed delete over each highlighted bar. Get a clue, whoever you are. No more messages.
Not one from Midge. A scowl darkened his face as he pulled into the Riverdale Plaza Shop-Rite lot and parked up front. She needed space. That was the excuse she gave him two weeks ago, after a movie and dinner, for why she was such a grouch lately. He’d joked with her that it was probably PMS. Big mistake. She railed at him, ruining the good time they’d had up until they climbed back into his Chevy. She gave him her patented “Why do I punish myself like this?” eye roll and folded her arms beneath her breasts.
“Don’t be cute. It’s not cute,” she snapped.
“Fine. Shit,” he muttered.
“What’s the big deal? Why’re you so pissed?”
“You always joke around when I’m upset. This is why we need a break, Moose.”
Whoa. What the fuck? He fought back the lurching sensation in his gut and cold flush that swept over him. She wasn’t saying what he thought he heard, right? Right?
“Huh?” It was all the reply he could manage. Moose ran on a three-second delay. It was just how he was wired. A monosyllabic reply like that one was just his way of gathering his thoughts. No glazed look, no drool or vacant eyes. But it still occasionally made him sound one can shy of a six-pack.
Midge was off on a tangent already. One word from him was all she needed to work him over. “You heard what I said. We need a break.”
“A break.” He leaned back from the steering wheel, letting the keys dangle from the ignition. Moose twisted himself halfway around in his seat to stare at her. Midge’s lips twisted into a glossy, petulant little knot. She looked pretty tonight. Snug forest green sweater with a white horizontal strip that emphasized her ripe breasts; she adored Old Navy. As usual, she lived in her short skirts. This one was faded denim with white butterflies appliquéd around the hem. White Ecko sneakers shod her small feet.
“I care about you, Moose, but I feel crowded.”
“Crowded.”
“You always call me everyday, two or three times a day.”
“I like talking to you.” That was a bad thing? Doubt and disbelief rang out in his voice.
She sighed. “You don’t have to know where I am or what I’m doing every minute,” she snapped.
“Who said I did?” he fired back.
“Like today. I was out with Ronnie, and you called twice.”
“One to ask about the movie. The next to ask what time.” It sounded logical enough to him.
“I already told you I’d go with you to the six o’clock show. I texted you,” she pointed out.
“I texted you back.” She glared at him. “No, you didn’t.”
“Uh, YEAH. I did.” He dug in his jacket pocket for his phone.
“Good grief. Here we go.” She rolled her coffee brown eyes as he flipped it open and started scrolling.
“Here.” He handed it to her triumphantly. She sighed and read the tiny screen. The timestamp said 4:30PM; her original message was sent at 4:15PM. The matinee’s chpr. Don wt 2 l8 2 call me bk. If 6 is fine, then fine. XOXO Moose.
“I was already out with Ronnie. We were busy.”
“Too busy to call me.”
“That’s kinda what I mean, Moose. Duh,” she mocked. Her tone left him sour, and worse, insecure. Why?
“Don’t talk to me like that,” he murmured.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m dumb. I hate it.” He didn’t add that he didn’t deserve it.
“I didn’t mean it that way. I just want you to understand me when I say I need some ‘me time.’ I want to hang out with Veronica and Nancy and Cheryl once in a while. I hardly ever do anymore, ever since we started going out.
“Midge…baby, I hardly ever see you anymore.” He swallowed roughly and irritation raised his voice. “I have practice. Then Dil helps me with math. You said you didn’t have time. That’s fine, ‘cuz Dilly’s better at math. I get it.”
“I know that. But my friends talk to me at lunch, and ask ‘Why are you around anymore?’ and blah, blah, blah, this’n that; why don’t you come to Betty’s candle party-‘”
“Midge, y’hate those things, anyway!”
“But Betty was holding it. It’s not about the candles. It’s about hanging out at Betty’s.”
“To smell candles.” Geez…
“It shouldn’t be that big of a deal if I wanna do girl stuff, with the girls.” As if he needed a definition…
“I work on the weekends.” He was giving his dad a chunk of his check for his truck’s insurance. “I get the time I see you at school and Friday nights to be with you. So on Saturday and Sunday afternoons, you get to hang out with Betty and Ron. I never said you couldn’t hang out with Betty and RON!”
“You couldn’t say that, anyway. You can’t just control me,” she hissed indignantly. Now, his head was starting to hurt. Moose looked flummoxed.
“Control you?” He was back to repeating her.
“We need a break.” She unfolded her arms and leaned her temple against her fist.
“I need a break.”
“You don’t wanna see me anymore.” It wasn’t a question. The words choked him. The muscle in Moose’s square jaw worked as they stared at each other across the long bench seat.
“I still care about you, Moose.”
“Then what? What’s this about?” “I told you what it was about.” He felt his face heat up and flush. He clenched his knuckles and stared down at them. She was killing him. “It sounds like you’re breaking up with me.”
“No. I’m not, sweetie. But I said I needed some ‘me time.’ It’s not your fault.” But she made him feel like it was. The drive home was miserable. She turned on his radio at full blast. He left it on for her, but turned down the volume to a low buzz. She recited a laundry list of what was wrong with him. “You don’t need such constant attention from me, Moose. You weren’t so needy when we started going out. I love being with you-“ Did she? “-but I don’t like all the PDA.”
“PDA?” Ooookay…
“Kissing and mauling me out in public.” Now she had to be kidding.
“We do that all the time. You’ve even licked my cheek to be funny.”
“You act like you own me.” He wanted to kick something. He wanted to yell at her. Moose longed to fling open the door and let her walk home, but every cell of his body was imprinted with her touch and remembered affection. He was addicted to Midge. Midge was his first. He’d always believed he was hers. He thought that meant something.
Moose was good at sports, but lousy at school. General consensus? That Moose was a “big, dumb jock.” He was big. He’d give ‘em that. Moose was born weighing a whopping ten pounds, five ounces and measured twenty-three inches long. He could live with being called a jock. Right on the money. He’d lived, eaten and breathed youth ice hockey until he reached seventh grade, and his pop signed him up for football. He’d never looked back. Throwing a pig skin was his passion. Two letters in football and in basketball were all he had to show for weeks of grueling suicide laps and scrimmages, plus a nice looking profile on his college apps. Scratch that. He had muscle, too. Rippling, sculpted muscle that broadened his shoulders and trunk. He took up space in every doorway he entered, top to bottom, side to side. But he was still a big huggy bear. He was supposed to be Midge’s huggy bear.
Did she think he was stupid? The concept hit the surface of his mind and left broad ripples in its wake. “Is it me?” They’d been silent for a while, each leaning away from each other. Midge was practically hugging the passenger window.
“Moose…” she tsked. “No. It’s me. I just need-“
“Space,” he finished for her.
“We can talk about this tomorrow.”
“Why not now?”
“You’re upset. We’re both too upset.” It was a patent lie. She was slipping through his fingers as he tried to hold onto her. They reached her driveway, and he cut off the engine. “What’re you doing?”
“Walking you up.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” He was already out of his seat belt and climbing out before she could argue. He needed to touch her. Touch told so much. Kisses didn’t lie. Did they? He opened her door for her and gently shoved it shut. His hand was gentle at the small of her back as she led them up the porch steps. She faced him, worry etching her features.
“Are we cool, Moose?”
No. “Yeah.”
“I’ll call you?”
Would she? “Yeah.”
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him; it was a peace offering and a stamp of approval. She had her way. It signified that the night was over. Moose felt, with a sinking heart, that wasn’t the only thing that was. His night was sleepless. He left his phone on atop the bureau, just in case the battery was dead by morning. No new calls. No texts.
No Midge.
*
He’d stood her up again. Again. How hard was it to meet her, at the theater for the three o’clock matinee? Betty sidled up to her as she stared through the ceiling-high windows of the Central City Movies 12 cinema, willing his car to appear in the lot. Zip. Damn it. “Maybe he got caught up. You know Juggie. He’s always late. Maybe he overslept.”
It wasn’t an over-the-top suggestion. Jughead loved a good nap as much as a good cheeseburger. His lanky frame never gained a pound despite such slothful habits. He’d agreed to meet them there. Just a few friends going to watch Spiderman. Cool action flick, not too bloody, and not based on a soppy chick lit novel. Betty showed up with Archie. Nancy, with Chuck. Frankie, with Maria. Ronnie, with Jason Blossom; Reggie was working on a photo project.
Jughead didn’t need the explanation of “It’s not a date.” He’d never show up if she thought it was. She’d even offered to buy the popcorn. Ethel was tired of feeling like the odd man out. Ironically, so many guys at Riverdale High treated her like “one of the guys,” so the description fit.
She was smart. Smart as a whip, excelling at languages and history and holding her own in science. She was the best home ec student in Miss Haggly’s class and baked a mean pie.
Ethel had no illusions of herself as a great beauty. She was tall, and easily as lanky as Juggie. Braces corrected most of her overbite, but she had a few more weeks til she was free of them. She wasn’t beautiful, but Ethel Muggs was easy to be around, and she was memorable. Her slate gray eyes were her best feature, fringed with curling lashes and arched brows. Her nose was slightly irregular, long and narrow and emphasized even more by the gauntness of her face. She wore her black hair in a manageable, spiky little bob. Her sense of style wasn’t overly girly except for the occasional long skirt. Ethel hated her legs.
“He’s not coming,” Ethel sighed. It sucked. She was a fifth wheel.
“He might show,” Betty insisted. She nudged her with her shoulder. Ethel nudged her back, absently.
“This sucks.”
“Aw. We’ll still have fun. Tell him what he missed out on.” And they did have fun. Somewhat.
She’d had a crush on him since fourth grade. They’d been playing freeze tag. She was the only girl faster than he was, or as tall. She liked the way he combed his hair, and his funny little beanie cap. He’d covered it in buttons and sports patches that were fun to stare at when she sat behind him on the bus. He had a red Nike windbreaker that made her assume he liked red. So she wore red. Lots of it. For three years, til she overheard him mention to Betty that it was green. She left him a love note in his locker, once, in eight grade. He tore it up and ignored her for a year. She injected hope into every hello and every smile he gave. Maybe he’s noticing me. She brought homemade cookies to senior prom committee meetings and Spanish club. Snickerdoodles. His favorite. She always ran down the hall, first out of fifth period English to catch him coming out of intermediate French. She was living on crumbs.
Dates with other boys were few and far between. And they used her. Badly. Ethel wasn’t a virgin. She’d dispatched that particular obstacle with a boy named Alex Cabot, who eventually transferred to a different school. He was wealthy and sure of himself. Sexy. Funny. Even full of baloney. He flattered her to make her blush. When no one was asking her to dance at homecoming, he invited her outside.
He’d kissed her mid-sentence, and her heart flipped. She clung to him while a dozen questions flew through her head. Did he really think she was pretty? Would he want to go out with her? Did it mean anything to him, being with her like this? His hands roamed beneath her clothes. She hissed a warning that someone would see. He took her out to his car. The upholstery of his parents’ BWM felt cool at her back as he worked her out of her sweater. Her legs were tangled with his and cramped in the confines of the back seat. It hurt, and she was so embarrassed about not knowing what to do. He still seemed satisfied with her fumbling efforts and the feel of her as he plunged in and out of her lithe, firm body.
He only spared her a glance or two as they got dressed. They furtively made their way back to the gym. She checked herself for blood spots in the bathroom and was grateful she wore black jeans. And that was it. When he’d ever kissed her again, it was always in private and always brief, even perfunctory. Rumor had it, he’d taken up with a blonde named Melody who played drums in a basement band. She wished them well. He wasn’t Jughead, but Alex provided a distraction. It made talking with Jughead less awkward and more natural, not to want him so desperately. At least some men found her attractive. She just liked Jughead best.
*
The next few days brought only obligatory calls from Midge. They left him cold.
Hey.
Hey.
What’re you doing?
Nothin’. Practice tomorrow. Just wanted to see what’s goin’ on.
Not much. Just hangin’ out. You?
Out with Ronnie. She wanted to shopping, so I tagged along. Lately, that was all she did. He ran into them at the Chok’lit Shoppe. He gave her a brief peck. It was fine, or she at least seemed fine with it. On his way out, he saw them through the window, talking about him. Fine, then. He’d worn a groove in the road, and it felt disconcerting, disconnected not to automatically drive to her house after school.
She was the bright spot in his day. He still craved her. His wool football jacket still held a remnant of her perfume. He longed for the earliest encounters between them that found her in his lap, kissing him greedily and hearing her moan. She knew what turned him on and what made him tick. He was already a few blocks down the road when he saw Reggie Mantle’s blue Honda Accord pull up outside. Something made him pause. His gut knotted strangely, and he changed his mind. Turned his car around and circled the block. They didn’t see his truck, now parked on the adjacent block instead of across the street. But he saw them. He’d kept his distance, like a good boy.
But he had to trust his instincts. Just this once.
Reggie never made it inside. She came out and met him at the door. Ronnie followed them out. They chatted. They laughed. Ronnie playfully punched Reggie. No love lost between them. She waved goodbye. Midge looped her arm through Reggie’s and waved back. Ronnie fumbled with her keys, crammed them into the ignition and careened off in her Porsche. She missed Reggie wrapping his arms around her friend’s waist, nuzzling her throat. She pretended to shove him away. He took umbrage. His palms cupped her ass as he gave her a long, sloppy kiss.
She arched into him, pressing her chest and belly against his. His grip was possessive; hers was greedy. Moose’s mouth went dry. His heart knocked in his chest. Blood seemed to pound in his ears and temples. He saw Red. A crimson haze of pain and rage rooted him to his seat. His fingers crept to the glove box. He took out his phone and dialed hers from the contact list. She was in his top five…what a fucking joke.
How could she do that? Why? How could she be so low? Who did she think she was?
Reggie. Why was he surprised? That bastard. Motherfucker. He punched the send button after texting a terse message. He watched her break apart from him. He watched her movements and the look of irritation on her face. She arrowed down through the messages. Moose waited, his heartbeat a hollow drumming. He tapped his knuckles against the steering wheel. He watched her freeze. He watched her mouth the words
“Oh, shit.” She covered her mouth.
What’s wrong? he asks her.
Moose. She hands the phone to him. One solitary word onscreen:
Bitch.
Moose was done with being a good boy. He tore off down the street, not missing her stricken face or Reg’s look of shock.
*
Tomatoes. Enchilada sauce. Cheddar. Tortillas. Ethel reviewed the scrap of paper, making her way through her mother’s scratchy handwriting. Shop-Rite was crowded already, and it was only ten AM. She hated long lines. The air conditioning felt drafty against her bare ankles; she wished she’d worn her tapered jeans instead of her capris. Ethel made her way through the produce section first. She hoped her red plastic shopping basket would make heavily laden carts before her in line take pity on her. Fat chance, Petunia. She’d found everything before she belatedly remembered the bathroom upstairs needed toilet paper. She was nearly buried under an avalanche of jumbo packs of Charmin as she rounded the end of aisle six.
“Ack!”
“Aw, man…m’sorry, ‘Bee,” Moose offered, holding out his hands, clutching his sticker punch. Some of her friends called her “Bee,” or B.E., for “Big Ethel.” She loathed the nickname since kindergarten, but it stuck. They knelt in tandem to retrieve the fallen stack and reassemble it. Their hands inadvertently bumped. His were warm and thick-knuckled; hers were slender and long, slightly clammy from handling the damp tomatoes. “Thanks.”
“No biggie. I only needed one roll,” she joked.
“Sure? We’re having a special,” he grinned back. He was cute when he grinned. Moose had a boyish face with clear, baby blue eyes that crinkled when he smiled. He had the kind of fair skin that mottled and flushed a deep red when he was angry, or embarrassed, which was the case now.
“Knocking the whole shelf on me again might talk me into it.”
“What’re you doin’?”
“Helping Mom. She’s making stuff for a potluck. Enchilada casserole.”
“Damn. That sounds good. Makin’ me hungry.”
“Working here probably does that anyway.”
“Once in a while. After a while, though, I get sick of the smells from the deli.”
“Good point.” He shooed her back.
“I’ve got this; don’t worry about it.”
“Okay,” she allowed quietly. He worked quickly, an the smile gradually faded from his face. “Moose?”
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
“Eh.”
“Eh?” she probed.
“Yeah. Kinda.” He kneaded his neck. His eyes looked tired, with dark smudges beneath them.
“You seem down.” She noticed small differences in him, treating herself to a long, thorough look. His broad shoulders were more slumped than usual. Beneath his red work apron, his white oxford shirt was wrinkled. He wore the sleeves rolled up, baring his generous biceps. They were covered in a fine layer of dark blond hair.
“Had a lot on my mind, lately.”
“Like?”
“Had a fight. With Midge.”
“Ooh.” She tensed, and waited. He sighed.
“She cheated on me. I saw her with Reggie.”
Ouch. “Ouch,” she said aloud.
“Listen, Bee, I hafta get back to work. Talk to you later.”
Her words tumbled out of her mouth without reason or pause. “Moose! What time do you get off?”
“Uh…seven, I think.” Why? “Why?”
Ooh. “Er, no biggie. I just didn’t know if…you were gonna be hungry.” She grasped at straws. He looked confused.
“Sure. I guess.” He’d be ravenous.
“So how about some decent food?”
“Where?” She calculated quickly.
“My place,” she blurted out. Ethel didn’t know where the heck this was coming from. Neither did Moose.
“Like…cooked food?” After the fact, he thought Homemade food? She didn’t laugh. She just smiled.
“That’s my favorite kind. I’ll save some of the casserole. Might have a few other things, too.” His smile slowly returned.
“Yeah.” Her stomach dipped in surprise.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Eight?”
“Eight. Okay.”
“Okay.” On her way out of the store, he waved to her at the check stand. Why did she suddenly feel giddy? Moose stocked and scanned and bagged his way through the rest of his shift. A tiny smile frequently toyed with his lips.
*
“Don’t lie to me and try to tell me I’m not in deep shit.”
“You’re not. Take it easy.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“He won’t return my calls.” She paused, twisting the phone cord nervously. “He just gave me this cold look before I went to P.E.”
“You’re calling him?” She detected a hint of resentment in his voice.
“Why wouldn’t I? You don’t understand.”
“Okaaaaaayyy. Enlighten me.” His tone didn’t hold confidence that she could.
“I’ve been with him for four years. He loves me so much. He’s so…needy. He’s always been so afraid he’d lose me if any other guy came near me. It’s just stifling. I feel like I’m his property sometimes.”
“So what about this? Seems like you proved him right about losing you after what happened.”
“He wasn’t supposed to see us.” It was stupid on her part; she’d admit it. Reggie was silent on the other end of the line, brooding. “I mean, I told him how I felt. I needed a break. I care about him, but still…”
“Listen. No big deal, but I’ve gotta go.” Reggie decided an excuse was a waste of breath.
“Call you later.” “Reg…”
“See ya.” She stared numbly at the handset, then cradled it with an exasperated sigh. She stared miserably at the framed photo Jughead had snapped of her with Moose at a car wash fundraiser the year before. Midge felt something inside her wilt a little.
*
“He found out. I told her he would.” Ronnie’s voice was muffled as she took a bite of ice cream.
“I can’t believe she did that to him. If she wanted to see other people, why lie?”
“Reggie’s a dick. He doesn’t care, as long as he gets his. Moose is her steady. Reg is just a go-to guy.”
“She’s so selfish.”
“Moose is kinda insecure.”
“Still doesn’t make it right.”
“Good thing he’s not that bright. Maybe he would’ve figured it out a long time ago.”
“Don’t say that. He’s not dumb at all.” She amended her statement. “He just didn’t look for the clues. He thought she loved him.”
“So he’s clueless,” Ronnie snarked. “There you go.”
“You’re so mean,” Betty sniffed.
*
Her directions were simple enough. Ethel lived in the only blue house on Jones Street, on the right corner of the block. He parked his truck a block down, trying not to block the other two cars parked out front. She mentioned a potluck? Once he started up the front walk, he smelled the casserole, and his stomach growled. He rang the doorbell and was surprised at how loud it was; he peered around to see if anyone else was outside to hear it. He heard her footsteps and chirpy cry of “I’ll get it!” before she snatched open the front door. “Moose! C’mon in!”
Ethel looked flushed and slightly relieved to see him. She’d changed her outfit and wore black jeans and a cropped white sweater, showing only a hint of her flat, firm midriff. He caught a whiff of her light, powdery perfume as she pulled him inside by his sleeve. “Hope you’re hungry! We’ve got tons of food left!”
“Wow,” he muttered as she led him into the dining room. The table was spread with a harvest-printed cloth and loaded with food. Tupperware bowls and baking dishes whose tin foil exposed their contents tempted him. Ethel wasted no time in dishing him a plate. “Sit!” she ordered fondly.
“I can get that-“
“No. Sit. Take a load off. You worked all day on your feet. I’ll fix you some of the good stuff that’s left.” She ladled casserole, potato salad, chicken fajitas, rice and beans onto his plate and retrieved a red plastic party cup for him.
“Who’s your friend, sweetie?”
“This is Moose! He’s in my history class!” Something about the way she beamed when she told her mother that warmed him.
“Nice to meet you!” Like her daughter, Ethel’s mom was tall, reed-thin and had a strong handshake. She nearly pumped his arm off. Just as he was tucking into the food, which was delicious, he heard the Muggs saying their goodbyes to two couples in the foyer.
“Man, I’m glad that’s over,” Ethel sighed, rolling her eyes. Her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. Moose smiled back.
“Long day?” “You don’t know the half of it. Buying the food, stocking the cooler, cleaning the house, running errands, plus I babysat Betty’s nephew while her sister Polly was in town. Kid’s cute, but a handful.”
“Sounds like work.”
“I like kids. I’m just not ready to have any.”
“Every time I walk into a room, kids run screaming at first, cuz I’m so big. Once they find out I’m no threat, they climb me like a tree.”
“geez… me too.” Ethel snickered and popped a piece of poundcake into her mouth. He followed her movements as she licked her fingers. She had a tiny crumb at the corner of her mouth, sticking to her pink lip gloss.
“You’re got something. Right here.”
“Where?” She looked embarrassed and patted her face, missing the speck repeatedly. Moose sighed.
“Hold still.” He reached out and plucked it off with his thick fingers. His touch was gentle; she still felt it when he leaned back into his seat. Ethel’s cheeks grew warm and she fidgeted slightly.
“Thanks for, uh, getting that.”
“Just needed help feeding yourself,” he suggested, giving her a lopsided smile. Her parents were still out front, thankfully. “You’re so skinny, Bee.”
She tsked and tossed a tiny bit of tortilla at him in umbrage. “Don’t! Everybody says that!”
“How can you eat all this good food and stay so thin?” That made her feel better. Slightly.
“Dunno. I guess I eat what I want, but only til I’m full.” Moose was chasing the last of the rice around his plate with his fork.
“Can I have some of that cake?”
“Knock yourself out.” Ten minutes later they ruminated over empty plates and a messy table. When she rose to clear, he was already grabbing empty cups and crumpled napkins. Moose smothered a burp but failed; the sound resonated up from his chest and Ethel grimaced. “Geez…what’d you eat?” He shrugged, then half-hiccuped, half-burped again.
“Sorry. Almost as good the second time.”
“Eww…” Jughead had nothing on Moose. His belches were vile, and they were legend. Her parents lingered by the doorway long enough to make sure Ethel put away the food. Her mother pecked her goodnight.
“Lock up once your friend leaves, sweetie.”
“I’ll remind her,” Moose offered.
“Sure you will, sport,” her father scoffed, slapping his shoulder firmly as he led his wife down the back hall. He took the meaningful look in his dark eyes to mean Don’t overstay your welcome. It spoke volumes.
Two things occurred to him as they headed for the front door. One. Ethel had a nice home and decent folks. Photos of her were proudly displayed here and there in the study and foyer. Two. Ethel. Huh. Ethel… She was cute when she smiled. She nervously tucked a lock of her glossy black hair behind her ear as she stood at the threshold.
When he stepped down onto the porch, they were nearly of a height. “Thanks. It was great.”
“Thanks for coming. It was nice,” she stammered.
“I’ll, uh, get going.”
“Yeah. Sure. Um, good night.” She fumbled, attempting a wave, but her hand faltered. She wanted to reach for him, to touch him in some way. He paused a moment, watching her indecision flicker on her face. Something in her gesture moved him. Aw, what the heck. Maybe it was the longtime ritual of kissing Midge outside her door every time they went out. Seeing a girl off on the porch just seemed to require a gesture of affection. So he stepped up and folded her hand in his. Hers was soft and her fingers curling his felt right, somehow. “Good night, Bee,” he murmured, and he edged closer, narrowing the gap between them. She released a pent-up breath as he stamped a light kiss against the corner of her mouth. Before she could purse her lips in response, he backed away and released her. Butterflies beat themselves mercilessly in her gut, and her heart tripped. Ethel gripped the doorknob to support herself as she listened to him jingling his keys on the way to his truck. He waved as he sped off. She was still weak in the knees.
*
Moose was restless for the remainder of the night. What the heck had he done that for?
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Not the Sun