Riddle Me This

Mmm. Another two year old story or so. @_@

Savannah arrived on time, almost to the dot. Of course, since I'd known the very slim, brown-eyed elf, she'd always been on time: it was compulsory. I looked out the large window to the street. There was that bright and breezy walk of hers, long dark hair blowing in a light breeze on a blue-sky spring day in late May. She was wearing a mock leather bomber-style jacket, which seemed cut short to emphasize her too slim waist and birdone hips that I could not help but think...

As she walked down the path to the front door I smiled, recalling the expression "ove the bones of you." Well, in her case, I think it's just too appropriate. Yet, who am I to complain? She's great at kissing and has the most pert bubble-butt that looks great in her tight cut blue-jeans, that she seems to like to wear with calf-tight black boots, with a heel of about two inches. Only Savannah is little, about 5'1".

The bell chimes and I turn to look in the mirror before motioning to answer. I look okay. Not perfect, but I'll do. It's a fear of mine, sadly, so I always check before answering the door. I cupped hands, breathed into the space made, then parted lips to smell - minty. Safe.

I open the door to a very pleasant day and her delightful smile. The freckles over the bridge of her nose had darkened a little since last time. But nothing ever seemed to tarnish her smile, emphasized today by a slash of red lipstick. Oh-boy, she looked good.

"Do come in," I enthused.

It's our one-day of the week together with no-one around. The folks are out and brother is at football practice. We don't get on. Never have; never will.

"How's your morning been?" She asked
"Just a bit of a runaround day, Savannah." I answered. The "runaround" was a mission to get some garlic early that morning, having to sneak out at 8:30 to get it.

She had the rope of an old canvas duffel-bag slung over her shoulder and her top was pink. And, I'm guessing it was getting cooler outside, judging from what was noticed when Savannah entered. She looked good: cheeks all aglow. For a moment I pictured her in white, standing at my side. A nice image, but I'd learned how clingy she could be and how jealous she could be. I mean, I'm with her and definitely not a cheater. Why can she not just trust me? I motioned Savannah to sit down and inquired as to what she might like to drink, pointing to a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, a pretty nice red wine.

"Would this be suitable?" I'd asked and took bow. She giggled, then put her hand to her mouth as a shaft of sunlight suddenly gave highlights to her hair.
"How about a picnic?" She queried brightly as I brought our drinks to the table. Then she added, "I've got all we need in my bag."

Abruptly, the room darkened as ominous clouds filled the sky.

"Ah," she began, "so it's an indoor picnic we're having..."

I do like Savannah, she's so creative.