70. Dusty

Marnie has that skirt on again.

The one with the leopard print.

The one she wore on the day when I first laid eyes on her.

It whispers over the back of her calves, but a slit in the side shows off a long stretch of leg. She wore a black tank top with it to dress it up. But she’s not wearing a bra and my thoughts have been anything but proper.

It’s why I pulled over on a dirt road half-way to Clark. Why we’re running late with the cakes.

I fucked her silly and I’m not sorry.

If it was just that, we might have made it on time, but we had to stop at a fast food joint to clean up after and now we’re arriving at the same time as the guests. According to Marnie, that’s a no-no.

She’s leading the way, a cake box in her arms, those hips swaying ahead of me as she leads me into the country club. I follow in the wake of her scent. She leaves a trail of sweet vanilla and peaches and I breathe in deep, wanting more. Wanting to run my tongue over her neck to taste that soft skin.

I’ve got a small stack of boxes in my arms, too. She didn’t trust me to carry more than three at a time.

Aside from the fact that we’re running behind, and that her hair is a bit more tousled than usual, nobody would expect that I was just inside her fifteen minutes earlier. Or that her panties are soaked with my cum.

She feels sheepish about being tardy, but I feel like a god-damned super-hero. The grin on my face ain’t going away anytime soon.

She talks to the mother of the bride while I ferry cakes into the club. I step back, watching with pleasure while she assembles this wedding’s masterpiece. It’s fascinating to see what creations she can whip up. Each one has been different. Unique between weddings, but unique to anything I’ve ever seen before. I’m used to the three-tiered cake with the little bride and groom on the top. Marnie’s cakes are artful and inspiring.

I love seeing the final product.

She says this cake is a naked wedding cake. I laughed when she said it, but I guess it’s a thing. Who knew wedding cakes could be sexy? I watch her arrange fresh lavender on each tier. She’s using my lavender. The cake was baked with honey from my bees. I’m wishing for a day when I can say our lavender. Our honey.

I don’t know a teaspoon from a soup spoon, but she made me a part of this cake. And that fills me with pride.

By the time we step out of the country club, the sun is starting to settle behind the trees. It’s the golden hour. My favorite time of day. And Marnie looks radiant. I grab her arm, reeling her back against my chest so that I can take a selfie.

I want to remember this day. The way this felt.

I can see a future like this. Marnie doing her cakes, me farming, and both of us helping each other out. A team. It’s a beautiful dream.

But maybe that’s all it is. I like to think of her as my woman, but she isn’t. Not yet, anyway. And time is running out. Slipping away from me.

If she moves on, leaving dead weight like me behind, I wouldn’t blame her. But I’d also want proof of our time together. Proof that it wasn’t just a dream.

Tucking my phone into my pocket, I slide my arm around her waist and walk her back to the truck. We head on over to The Go Around. It’s a hoity-toity place for a small town. I more or less hate it and all the snobs that frequent it.

But Marnie is hungry and I ain’t going to take her to some dive shit hole. And besides, we both clean up pretty nice. We’d be out of place at Barry’s, the trucker bar out by the interstate. I wanted to rise to her standard, so I put on a button up and dark jeans. Messed with my hair. Shaved for once. I think shaving’s a hassle, but the way she explored my jaw, curiosity sparking in those amber eyes… a shave might be worthwhile just to keep her attention.

I help her out of the truck, going slowly across the parking lot so she can keep up in those sexy fucking heels. Maybe I can talk her into leaving them on later. I’m going to tear every last piece of clothing off her body, but the heels can stay.

We step into The Go Around, and like every other place in this town, I’m hit with a parade of memories. I used to be a server here, for a short time. But I couldn’t put up with the god-damned snobs, so I quit, opting to earn my way with blood and sweat instead.

This is where the rich farmers go. It’s like they can play wild west here. Act like they know what it’s like to get dust and cow shit on your boots. It’s old-timey. Brass fixtures and stained glass make it look like something straight out of a western.

I hate it.

But Marnie is looking around with a spark in her eye. And that alone is worth all the fuckery.