When Clyde Parker, the wayward son and the rotten-apple of the Parker family-tree, storms his way back into Avery Fields, he sets out a flurry of butterfly effect in Dawn Marshal's life.
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THERE WERE TWO TYPES of kisses-Kisses that you can't forget, the ones that keep you up all night, staring longingly at the moon and waking up to the 'I-HAVE-JUST-BEEN-KISSED-FEELING!' in the morning.
And then there were the kisses that made you forget who you are and how much of a dickwad the person you are kissing is. The kisses, that make you toss and turn in bed, stare blankly at the ceiling and wonder 'What the fuck have I done?'
It was really weird and wonderful, how the taste of his lips made all of her anger evaporate. All her frustration went on ice. She felt like a smooth-sailing ship floating in the ocean. Like a hovering entity that had lost its grip on gravity. Her fingers tugged at his soft curls, their bodies flushed against each other.
She thought, he smelt like cinna-buns and tasted like espresso. The drizzling of rain somehow became so distant. Everything was slipping and they were fading away.
Her feet lifted off the ground and with the flexibility she never knew she had, it popped like that in a 70s black and white Casablanca.
Her heart hammered against her chest, her mind still ticking to process the situation, striving to catch up with her actions and the fuzzy feeling down the pit of her stomach remained overwhelming, all the while, her whole body tingled with a thousand sparks.
She gazed at him through the haze of a train of emotions fleeting in her eyes, crinkles lined her forehead.
His hand hands reached out to smooth the folds on her forehead. "You think too much." He smiled between the kiss.
"And clearly you don't think at all," she whispered against his lips. Their noses brushed and their foreheads melted together.
That afternoon, she carried the fluttering butterflies in her stomach home and the remnants of that kiss lingered in her mouth long after the rain had stopped and a sheer blanket of sunshine had graced their neighborhood.
°•°•°
Mia Thompson had a house straight out of the Grimm's Fairytales. It wasn't anything like the over-the-top magnificent castle like the Parker Manor, nor was she living off cardboard boxes for a whole year and a half like in the Marshal residence.
Dawn was standing in a beautiful patio filled with colorful flower-pots dangling from the roof, grape and ivy vines twirling around the window-panes. The scent of bougainvillea tickled her nostrils, as she rang the door bell.
When the doorbell rang, Mia was staring out of her boarded window, day dreaming about a boy she shouldn't day dream about. It wasn't until after the third bell did Mia nudge out of her daze, groan and stomp down the stairs well aware who would visit her on such an ungodly occasion.
Mia peeped through the looking glass to see her best friend wearing the grin of a Cheshire cat and in her ugly ratted t shirt, standing on her threshold. Mia glanced down at herself-her bare face dotted with acne cream, hair in a messy pun, pore strip around her nose and in a pair of Power Puff Girls pjs.
