Fine Clothes for the Lady:

George had stopped in front of a store. A plethora of dresses lined the displays. Large

holoscreens played ads, showing beautiful women in long flowing dresses.

“Elegant. Sophisticated. Better than the rest,” a voice came from the holoscreen. George

smiled to himself.

A bit on the nose, isn’t it? he thought to himself. He kept staring at the dresses. George

had never been a fashionista, but there was something about them that kept his gaze. Perhaps it

was the elegance. Perhaps it was the price tag. Perhaps it was the thought of Amelie wearing one

of those dresses that kept George glued in place. Suddenly George stiffened. He felt a pair of

eyes on him, and suddenly, he felt as though perhaps those thoughts were not as silent as he

thought. He tore his gaze away from dresses, moving it towards the eyes that stared at him.

There stood Amelie. Her green eyes stared at George, studying him, moving in the

fashion they usually do when she reads his mind. Or, that’s what George calls it. He’s never

actually been able to prove she can, but Amelie had a strange talent to know what people are

thinking, just by studying their faces. George studied hers in turn, but immediately gave up.

I can never tell what she’s thinking, he thought to himself. Amelie always had the same

expression on her face. Her eyes were half closed, her lips always turned slightly upwards in the

permanent smile she had on her face. Her tan complexion and short black hair was a stark

contrast to her vibrant green eyes. The ever relaxed expression on Amelie’s face tended to put

some people off, but George had always found it charming. However, no matter how anyone felt

about Amelie’s face, not a single person would deny she is impossible to read. Her face rarely
ever changed expression, so trying to figure out what she was thinking was quite frankly a fool’s

task, something George had come to accept quite some time ago.

George moved his eyes up and down her, studying the outfit she always wore. Amelie

was standing with her back slightly towards him, looking over her shoulder. She wore slightly

loose fitting military pants, tucket into steel toed combat boots. Moving up, she had on her usual

red corset top, with a brown leather jacket over top. The back of the jacket had a bulls head on

the back, half of its face a skeleton and flaming, the other half mechanical. It was the icon of a

rocker band that had faded nearly a decade before. Amelie’s green eyes stared at him over the

collar. Finally she turned fully towards George, slowly sauntering her way up to him. She was

nearly as tall as George, just slightly over 6ft.

“Hm?” she hummed as she stopped in front of him. She glanced at the store, then back to

George. “What are you looking at here?”

“Uh, this store just caught my eye,” George said.

Amelie cocked her head, her eyes locked onto his. “Oh?” she said, her pitch elevating.

“And what, mi tesoro, do you find so appealing?” George tore his gaze away, returning his eyes

to the store. Amelie, detecting weakness, stepped up closer to George, her gaze unwavering.

George’s cheeks burned red.

“I, uh,” George started.

“Do you, perhaps, wish to see me in such an outfit,” she asked, her voice low, her lips

inches away from his ear. George’s face was flushed now, not due to Amelie’s display, he had

grown quite used to it. However, he was still not used to her doing it in very public places. He

could feel the judging eyes from the passerbyers. Amelie, sensing this, quickly put her arm up
and over on George’s shoulder, placing her other hand on his chest, while pushing her own body

right up on George.

“Well, mon loup?” she asked, Her face was now only centimeters away from his own.

George stood in a mix of euphoria and frustration. His brain was firing on all cylinders, trying to

formulate an answer that wouldn’t embarrass him further, but finding it difficult to concentrate

with the woman pushed up on him. Finally, after an agonizing ten seconds, a sudden resolve

overtook Goerge. He took a deep breath, summoning up all the courage he had in his body.

“Yes, let’s go inside” he exclaimed. The people moving past the couple jutted back in

surprise, murmuring to themselves as they walked around. George kept his eyes forward, waiting

for Amelie to respond. But she didn’t. Her hand dropped from his chest, the other withdrawing

from around his shoulders. He felt the warmth of her body move away. He turned towards her.

She stood there, one hand in pocket, the other raised to her head, scratching it. Her eyes were

slightly more wide than usual, and she was gazing off into the street.

“Huh,” she mumbled.

“Huh?” George repeated.

“Can’t say I expected that,” she said. “Not outta you.”

Ouch, George thought to himself. A realization struck George just then. Amelie had

never pulled away from her teasing. Never, not once. George studied her. Her face may be

unreadable, but people often have ticks when they are in an uncomfortable or awkward situation.

George knew Amelie. This was probably the first time in her life that anyone had ever asked to

see her in a dress, let alone from her partner. She didn’t know how to deal with it, this intimate

feeling. This woman, the nonstop tease, who had seemed to show no shame for publicly showing
signs of affection, was suddenly on the back foot. Caught off guard. Vulnerable. A fire was set

ablaze in George’s heart.

THIS, he screamed in this head. I NEED TO SEE MORE OF THIS!

“Amelie,” he said with an unusual enthusiasm. “Let’s go inside.” Amelie returned her

gaze to George, blinking several times in confusion at this determination. She dropped her hand

from her head.

“Dresses are for fancy ladies, not really my style,” she started.

“I know,” George said, quickly snatching her hand, holding it firmly in his own. “That’s

why I want to see you in one.”

Amelie stood in silence for a moment. “You think I would look good in one of those

fancy dresses?” she asked mockingly.

“Breathtaking,” George responded instantly, his face deadly serious. His eyes did not

waver from Amelie’s. They stared at each other for a moment more, before Amelie let out a

defeated sigh and dropped her head.

“You,” she said, reaching out her hand and cupping George’s chin, “are much too

innocent.” She dropped her hand back from his face, turning towards the store. “C’mon then,”

she said, pulling at George’s hand. A smile came across his face as they walked into the store.

The cold air greeted them as the doors slid closed behind them. George glanced around

the store. The walls were surprisingly bare, not a single dress on display, except for the ones on

the shop window. There was no one else in the store either, at least not any customers. Rows of

doors lined the walls, each looking extremely high tech. It was almost as if they were all

miniature bank vaults, protecting valued treasures and worth from the outside. George’s eyes

finally rested on the back of the store, where a lone, yet elegant desk stood. Behind it stood an
impeccable dressed woman, her hair combed to perfection, not a strand out of place. Her clothes

were finely pressed, so much so that you would not be able to find a crease under a microscope.

Her movements were graceful, never exerting more effort than she needed to, a pair of glasses

low on the bridge of her nose. It seemed, however, that she had not taken notice of them entering

the store. George glanced over at Amelie. Her eyes were locked onto the woman, paying no

mind to anything else.

I guess I’ll take the first move, George thought to himself. He began making his way

towards the desk in the back. He heard the sound of Amelie’s boots clacking on the ground

behind him. Guess she was waiting for me then, he thought to himself. I wonder what the

etiquette is here? George wondered, glancing around at the minimal furniture. Should I call out

to her, or would that be rude? George pondered this as he moved forward. I guess I’ll wait till

I’m a bit closer, maybe halfway? George marked in his mind a vault that would serve as his

midpoint. He was nearly there, a few more steps and he would cross the line. As his foot crossed

the barrier, he took a deep breath, and began to move his arm to wave in greeting. Suddenly, the

woman looked directly at George, as if his inhale had awoken her to his presence. The greeting

caught in his throat in surprise.

“Welcome to Duvot,” the woman said, making her way from behind the counter. “My

name is Christine, how may I help you this evening?” Her voice matched her appearance. It rose

and fell like a harmony, every single word pronounced thoroughly and without hesitation.

“Hello,” George responded, the sudden need to be perfect bearing down on him. “I was,

ehem, we were looking to inquire about some of your wares.” George stood awkwardly. He

could feel Amelie’s gaze on him. He could almost hear her ask “What the hell is up with you?” I

dunno, I panicked, George thought to himself. He could sense Amelie nod her head, before a
silent snicker escaped her. George’s cheeks flushed red for a moment, before he composed

himself. Christine had been waiting patiently, studying the two that stood in her store. If she had

noticed the silent exchange, she made no indication of it.

“I see,” she said, clasping her hands together, putting on a bright smile. “And did you

know which dress you would like to try? Any brands, styles, a particular event you are buying

for?”

“Um, in terms of events, there’s not really one we are buying for,” George started. “For

brands and style, I don’t really have a starting point, we were more looking to peruse your stock,

but I haven’t seen a single dress since I’ve walked in here.”

“Yes, considering the sizable price of our wares, we simply cannot leave any out for

people to peruse, as you say,” Christine responded, her eyes narrowing. Christine’s eyes quickly

studied them both once more. The friendless behind them had all but disappeared, contrasting

with the rest of her face. George heard Amelie adjust slightly, noticing the change in Christine’s

demeanor.

“Our merchandise are of the highest quality, and with them you are sure to be the bell of

any ball you attend. However, being the best is certainly an investment. Are you quite sure this is

an investment you can make?” Christine finished. George stood for a moment, dumbfounded at

the elegant way this woman just insulted him. He opened his mouth to retort, only to hear

Amelie step up from behind him.

“We have the creds to pay, if that’s what you're implying,” she said coolly. Christine

turned towards her.

“I did not mean it in such a way,” she said, acting taken aback by the fact that her words

could be taken as an insult. “I was simply trying to-”

 “Yes, I understand what you were trying to do,” Amelie interrupted. Amelie took a step

towards Christine. As she did, George noticed two men in black suits step out from behind doors

that were behind the counter. “So, chica, now that you know we can pay, how about you keep

your lips firmly closed unless asked to open your mouth again. See, pompous really grates on my

ears.” Amelie was now towering over Christine. Chrsitine, the smile still on her face, was dead

silent, unsure of how to respond. George, seeing the two men in the back straighten, moved

forward to calm Amelie.

“Oh my,” came a voice from the back. “What a commotion we have on our hands.”

There stood an older woman, billowing black hair, wearing a formal night dress, an electric

cigarette in hand. She walked out from the door, making her way over to Amelie and George.

Amelie turned her attention to the approaching woman, pulling back from Christine. The woman

stopped just in front of Amelie, slowly studying her from head to toe.

“And who are you?” Amelie asked.

“Duvot, darling,” she said as her gaze slowly looked over Amelie.

“You getting a feel for me? Gonna suddenly mystic up a dress, be my fairy godmother,

tell me all of my dreams will come true if I just shell out a little cash?” Amelie asked. Duvot’s

gaze finally returned to Amelie’s eyes.

“Intelligent, strong, physically and mentally. You take no one’s opinion but your own,

and aren’t afraid to say it. And yet, here you are, trying to get under my skin, make me kick you

out, make you leave. I wonder why that is?” Duvot tapped her cigarette in thought. “Are you

perhaps afraid of what you may see in the mirror, darling?” Amelie stood silent. Duvot glanced

over at George, before a sly smile came over her face. “Or are you worried what someone else

may think of you, when they see you in a state so unnatural to you?”
 Amelie straightened. “I just don’t care to be in places like this. Luxury is bothersome,”

she responded. The smile remained on Duvot’s face.

“Oh I like you,” she said. “Christine, prepare a room. We will find this young lady a

dress to fit her… style.”

“Yes, Ms. Duvot,” Christine responded, promptly making her way towards the back,

disappearing behind the door Duvot had appeared from.

“Come now,” Duvot said, stepping next to Amelie, putting an arm around her waist. “Let

your fairy godmother create a dress, for you and your prince.” George notice Amelie stiffen for a

moment, before relaxing. Duvot gently gave Amelie a push, before they both started walking

towards the back. George sat in awe of Duvot until they passed the counter, at which point he

realized he had no idea what he should do.

“Oh, um, should I come with you, or?” George called out after them.

Duvot stopped, turning towards George. “Do you plan to watch the lady as she changes?”

she asked in an accusing voice.

George’s cheeks flushed for a moment. “No, I just-” he started.

“Then feel free to ‘peruse’ our wares, my dear boy,” Duvot interrupted as she and Amelie

continued their walk.

“Oh, okay,” George responded, turning towards the store. “Hey, wait, but there’s nothing

to-” he cut himself short as he realized they had already crossed through the doorway, leaving

only himself and the two men in black suits. George let out an exhale in defeat, turning towards

the rest of the store. Guess I’ll take a look around? George thought to himself, as he began to

slowly wander the walls of the store.

***
 George had been standing at the entrance of the store for nearly thirty minutes. He was

staring outside, watching people walk past, his brain firing at one-hundred percent capacity.

About forty minutes ago, George had become bored of wandering the empty store, and had given

up on trying to make conversation with the two brick walls in suits that stood in the back. He had

come to realize that he was actually quite parched, and decided to go get a drink for himself and

Amelie when she came out. While George was reaching for the door, he suddenly froze.

Wait, what if Amelie comes out and I’m not here? he thought to himself. But I won’t be

that long. But what if as soon as I leave she comes out? Would she get mad at me? Or would she

understand? I don’t want to miss the opportunity to see her in the dress. What if there’s a long

line at the store and I don’t even get a drink? What if I’m gone, miss her, and she breaks up with

me? What if- these thoughts had been assaulting George ever since he stepped up to the door, and

he was nowhere closer to finding his answer. His hand wavered from his side, to the handle, then

back to his side again. The indecisiveness was thick in the air, almost seeming to affect those

outside, as anyone who passed by the shop slowed their step, as if they were suddenly unsure of

what they were doing. Or perhaps they simply noticed George standing in the doorway, the

expression on his face intense, as if he was making the greatest decision of his life. George was

so engrossed that he did not hear the footsteps approaching him.

“Mr. Eckerman?” A voice came from behind. George suddenly stiffened, finally being

broken from his trance. He turned. Christine stood behind him, a puzzled look on her face. “They

are ready for you now,” she said as she motioned towards the back.

“Oh,” George said, his parched throat becoming an immediate after thought. “Thank

you.”
 “This way please,” Christine said, leading George into the back room. As they crossed

the doorway, the room widened into a lengthy hallway, the sides covered head to toe in fabrics

and unfinished dresses. Some looked nearly complete, while others looked as if someone had

taken a blade to them. George couldn’t help himself as they made their way through, slowing his

pace, taking in all the uncompleted masterpieces around him.

“What are these?” George asked.

“Lady Duvot’s scrapped works,” Christine said, her pace not slowing.

“Scrapped?” George repeated in disbelief.

“Yes, scrapped, unfinished, unworthy,” Christine retorted in an uncharasteric tone. “Now

come along, I do not wish to keep Lady Duvot waiting.”

“Oh, sorry,” George said, quickening his pace to catch up to Christine. Suddenly,

Christine stopped in front of a door, opening it, and motioning for George to follow.

“Lady Duvot, Mr. Eckerman, as requested,” Chrsitine said as George followed her into

the room.

“Thank you, Christine, you may go,” Lady Duvot said. Christine performed a polite bow,

before turning and leaving the room, shutting the door behind George. He glanced about the

room. There were sewing needles and fabrics strewn about, tables lined the walls, and machines

that George couldn’t even place were stacked on them. Overhead lights scattered across the

ceiling, pointing in every direction. Most, however, were not on, faded into the darkness of the

ceiling. Only the periphery lights were on, with a single overhead light shining on the center of

the room. Lady Duvot sat there, in an antique wooden chair. Next to her was a folding partition,

stretched across the center of the room. It was pitch black, allowing nothing to be seen through it.
George returned his attention to Lady Duvot, who had been patiently waiting for him, tapping

her lip with the end of her cigarette.

“What do you think?” she asked as she stood, pushing the chair slightly away. George

took a moment.

“It's impressive, is this your workshop?” he asked. Lady Duvot walked up to George.

“Yes, it is my workshop,” she said. “This is where the magic happens. As less creative

people would say.” She slowly began to circle George. “But is that truly what you care about? Or

are you simply trying to delay?”

George swallowed. “Delay what?” he asked.

Duvot stopped in front of George. “Oh, that’s so cute,” she responded. “Prepare yourself

as much as you like, but it will do nothing to still that beating heart of yours.” George was

suddenly very aware of just how fast his heart was beating. It quickened with each step that

Duvot took towards the partition. Seemingly aware of this, Duvot took each step slowly, moving

at an agonizing pace. By the time she reached the partition, George could only hear the sound of

his heart in his ears. Duvot put her hand on the edge, and suddenly everything went quiet. The

beat that had once pounded in George’s ears was now eerily silent, his breath too, had ceased. It

was as if Duvot had stopped time by merely placing her hand on the partition.

“Amelie Luz,” Duvot said, pushing the partition. George watched intently as it slid along

its path, desperately looking for any sign of the woman behind it. Then suddenly, there she was.

A dumbfounded expression overtook George as he stared at what lay beyond the wall. There

stood Amelie. The dress she wore was the same shade of black as her hair. The top of the dress

was a halterneck, the straps wrapping around her neck, keeping the dress in place, while leaving

her shoulders exposed. She had on form fitting arm sleeves on both hands, each with a strap
wrapped around the middle finger. The sleeves covered her forearm, but left her biceps bare. The

waist of the dress was thin and tightly pressed, so much so that George could nearly see the

outline of her abs against the fabric. The dress's skirt was asymmetrical, the back long and

flowing, but the front stopped just short of her knees, accentuating her legs. Her legs wore a pair

of black thigh high boots that also doubled as heels. George noted that the inside of the skirt was

a bright red. The floral pattern of the chest looked to be a part of the stitching. As George

continued to look in amazement, his stupor was suddenly broken when he saw Amelie’s hand

fidget. He quickly turned his gaze to her face. She still had her normal look on her face, eyes half

closed, lips turned upwards in a smile, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. And though he could not

tell for certain, George swore he could see just the slightest hint of red on her cheeks. George

stared, unable to tear his eyes away from this sight.

“Well,” Devot said, breaking his concentration. “How long are you going to torutre the

poor girl.” George’s face turned to one of confusion. “Tell her what you think,” Devot replied.

“I, um, I,” George started, unable to find the words. “Um, its, you, uh,” he stumbled,

moving his arms to accentuate the words he could not find.

“Um, pretty,” George finally let out. Everyone stood absolutely still. George kept his

eyes on Amelie, his face burning red. Amelie still wouldn’t meet his gaze, but her smile seemed

to have deepened slightly, and George could swear he saw just the tiniest hint of red shading her

cheeks. Duvot stood in silence, her mouth covered by her hand, a serious look on her face.

Suddenly, a giggle came from Duvot, until she could no longer contain herself, bursting out

laughing. George and Amelie quickly looked over at her, taken aback by the reaction.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Duvot said between breaths. “It’s just, in all my years of work, I’ve

driven men to be speechless, and also driven them into rants about beauty and love, but never
before has a man been driven to his most simplistic instinct, only to utter a single word.”

George’s face was now that akin to a tomato as Duvot slowly regained her composure. She gave

George a genuine smile. “It is adorable, darling.” Duvot stepped up next to George, standing

shoulder to shoulder with him.

“I am so very glad you like it,” she said. George simply nodded, returning his gaze to

Amelie, who was now staring directly at Duvot. “I will admit,” Duvot started. “This was one of

my most challenging projects. Not only did you and yours have not the slightest idea of what sort

of event this dress would be worn for, but your partner was rather reserved. Preferences, wants,

desires, stimulators, darling, she would not reveal much.”

“Stimulators?” George asked, blinking in confusion.

“So I went with a more general approach,” Duvot continued, ignoring his question. “I

used what I observed from you two in my store, while also trying to make the dress not only

elegant, but flexible, able to be worn at a plethora of events.”

“Oh, I se-” George started.

“The most challenging part,” Duvot interrupted. “Was retaining her essence, what makes

your Amelie, Amelie. Most girls that come in here are so frail darling. Arms like twigs, waists so

small you can nearly see through them. God it makes for a beautiful dress, but so many are so

typical, so standard, so boring. They come here to fit the dress, not have the dress fit them, which

is why most leave with a premade overpriced unoriginal garment. But Amelie, she is an original.

Arms as thick and sturdy as tree trunks, legs and hips wide from muscle, and yet her waist is still

slender. She has muscles that would put bodybuilders to shame, yet a body that models would

die for. A princess descended from Hercules.” George took a moment to really study Amelie.

She usually wore her jacket or longer sleeved shirts, in fact, George can’t recall ever seeing her
in a short sleeve shirt. She always wore loose fitting pants as well, never any shorts. She didn’t

care for anything that restricted her movement too much. But now George could see the parts of

Amelie that were always so carefully hidden.

Duvot was right. Amelie’s biceps were surprisingly large, every part of her body was

seemingly toned, as if she ran a marathon every day. George had always known that Amelie was

strong, he could feel it every time he took her hand, or when he put his arm around her, or when

she put her hand on him. A small smile came across George’s face.

Damn she’s cool, he thought to himself. George suddenly noticed a change in Amelie.

Her stiff stance became much more relaxed, the air around her suddenly losing all of its tension.

She had finally met his gaze. She looked at George like she normally would, her normal

confident and laid back aura returning, the blush from her cheeks evaporated. Something had put

Amelie’s mind at ease. While George was not sure what, he was glad to see her return to herself.

“And there’s the final touch,” Duvot said quietly. Amelie stepped off the platform. Duvot

stepped away from George, giving a wide berth to Amelie as she directly approached George,

stopping just in front of him.

“Pretty, huh?” she asked.

George quickly scratched the back of his head, eyes darting around. “Well, um yes, but,

not just pretty, also-” he started.

Amelie brought a finger up to his lips, silencing him. “Pretty is enough,” she said. George

slowly dropped his hand back down, a warm feeling rising up in him. A smile came across his

face. They both stared into each other's eyes for a moment, before Amelie turned to Duvot, who

had been standing near one of her machines.

“So, what do we do for him?” she asked.

George furrowed his brow in confusion, before glancing at Duvot. “Wait, what do you mean for

me?” George asked, bewildered.

Duvot raised herself slightly, before bringing the cigarette up to her mouth, taking a long

draw. “As you wish,” she said, vapor exhaling from her nose. George straightened, unsure of

what to do. Duvot’s eyes quickly glanced up and down George, before she turned, heading over

to the corner of her workshop. She disappeared behind a linen that hung in front of a doorway.

Ten seconds passed. George glanced over at Amelie, concerned. She kept her gaze trained on the

linen. George took a slight step backwards, an urge to flee rising in him. Amelie’s arm whipped

out, latching itself firmly onto his shoulder. Her grip was like an iron vice, squeezing not enough

to hurt, but enough to keep him firmly rooted in place. Another ten seconds passed before Duvot

re-emerged from behind the linen. George stiffened in fear as she approached, until he noticed

what she carried. It was a three piece suit. Both the pants and jacket were black, while the vest

was a dark shade of red, a black pattern etching across it like veins. Amelie’s hand dropped from

George’s shoulder as Duvot stopped in front of George. She stretched her arm out, George

slowly taking the suit from her, looking it up and down. It was impeccably made, nearly

impossible to see the stitching. The fabric was fine as well, but George could not place what it

was. It was light, yet felt strong. George doubted he could rip it even if he tried.

“Huh,” George said, still studying the suit.

“Not what you expected?” Duvot questioned.

“No, I just, isn’t this a dress shop?” he asked.

“Oh?” Duvot said in a worryingly sly tone. “Is that what you would prefer?”

“Wait, no I-” George quickly started.

 “Because I’m sure I could find something to accommodate you, darling,” Duvot

interrupted, stepping closer to him. George shot a look of desperation over at Amelie, who

simply took a step forward clenching and unclenching her fists, making ready to pounce.

“Come now,” Duvot said. “Be my greatest challenge yet.” Both women took another step

towards George. George stood completely still. He knew if he even twitched, Amelie would be

on him.

There’s only one way to deal with predators, George thought to himself. He stood as

straight as he could, forcing his hand to stop trembling, holding up the suit.

“The suit is good,” he said, trying to put on as much of a confident face as he could. Both

women stopped. Duvot brought the cigarette up to her lips as Amelie’s shoulders relaxed.

“Shame,” Duvot said, turning, making her way back into her workshop. “Come darling,”

she said to Amelie. “Let’s get you changed back.” Amelie turned to follow Duvot. George

opened his mouth to call after them. “Go and make the payment with Christine,” Duvot

interrupted. She then turned, making her way with Amelie, ducking past the linen. George

watched as Amelie went to follow, before she stopped a moment, turning back towards George.

She turned towards him, allowing George one final look at her, before disappearing behind the

linen. George took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

Well, guess I need to find an occasion to see that again, George thought to himself as he

made his way out of the back.

***

George had spent the last ten minutes staring at the receipt in his hand. He was sitting on

the steps of the shop, the Duvot sign hanging above his head. A battle had been commencing in

his head. Everytime he looked at the total, he felt a pang of regret in his stomach. But everytime
he felt it, he thought of Amelie in that dress, and the regret immediately dispelled. Yet again, that

was a good amount of scratch. But again, that dress. But creds. But Amelie. Creds, Amelie,

creds, Amelie, creds, Amelie. This scene played over and over again in his head, until the door

sliding open behind him finally broke his concentration. He turned around. Amelie stood over

him, her normal clothes covering her body, a beautifully wrapped box under her arm. She sat

down next to him, letting her legs stretch down the steps. She glanced over at George. Her face

was its normal self, except her smile was slightly more even, a subtle change that usually means

she’s annoyed at something.

“You gonna be okay footing that?” Amelie asked, nodding her head towards the receipt.

“Yeah course,” George said immediately, crumpling the receipt and shoving it into his

pocket. The hells’ wrong with you man, George thought to himself. Why would you let her see

that? They both sat on the steps in silence, watching passersby.

“George,” Amelie said softly. George glanced over. Amelie was staring straight ahead,

not really looking at much. The wind gently blew her hair, the light shining on her. “Thanks.”

George was silent a moment, before smiling to himself and lifting himself off the step.

“Let’s go drop this stuff off. Still got plenty of sunlight to burn,” George said, extending his

hand.

Amelie cocked her head at him, before reaching out and grabbing his hand. “My my,

tesoro, sure are motivated today,” she said as George helped her to her feet.

“Gonna go ahead and blame you for that,” George said.

“Well well,” Amelie said, moving in closer. “I wonder what else today has in store for

us,” she said, brushing her cheek against his. Then she turned, starting her way down the

sidewalk. George took a moment, taking all of what Amelie was in, before starting after her.
End