Response – JSW Prompt 12-5-2021

The JSW Challenge is open to anybody who wishes to participate. Using the writing prompt, write a flash fiction no longer than 300 words and post it to your page. The Challenge starts on Monday and runs through Sunday each week. Please remember to link your story back to this post so everyone can read your entry.

pixbycsknotts

Hammock Time.

“Scooch over.”

“Is there enough room?”

“It’s a double hammock. There is plenty of room.”

“All right,” while scooching, “but if you dump me out you’ll pay.”

Chris settled down on the hammock, one arm wrapped around her shoulders. “See I told you there was room.”

“Just don’t bobble or we’ll hit the ground.”

“I don’t bobble, thank you.”

She curled up against his side, snuggling in for warmth and comfort.

“Isn’t this the best?”

“Indeed it is the best,” he answered, closing his eyes to feel the sun on his face and the soft curves of her against his side.

“I feel a little decadent, though,” she went on. “Lazing around in a hammock mid-day.”

“What better time?”

“Spoken like a true I-don’t-have-to-be-a-worker.”

“Hey, don’t knock it. If you weren’t so stubborn, you wouldn’t have to work either.”

She pouted. “I like to pay my own way.”

“It shouldn’t matter.”

‘It does matter. I don’t need you to pay my bills.”

“I don’t mind paying them.”

“I know, but they are my bills not yours.”

“When I take you, I take your bills, too.”

“No, you don’t.” She curled her legs over his, tucking her toes in-between his.

He shifted, kissing her forehead through her bangs. “I’ll just take you on a fantastic vacation, just us two.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she giggled with a sigh. “I get some time off after the first of the year.”

This time he sighed. “Ah, the restrictions of the working life.”

“You’ll live, I promise.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, “but it’s hard.”

“Poor baby.”

“I know.”

She laughed. “You are so spoiled.”

“But you love me anyway.” He dripped one foot over the edge of the hammock, pushing them gently back and forth.

Rolling to her elbow, she looked down at him. “I do, Christin Allen Crenshaw. I do.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “Even with all your faults.”

He chuckled. “My faults are why you love me.”

“Well, maybe not,” she settled back on her side, head on his bicep. “But close enough.”

Sighed again as the October sun poured down on them. “Close enough.”