Page 6 of Petite Fleur

Nothing major, a few consultation requests, a few requests for me to evaluate criminals trying to claim insanity, and a ton of spam messages.

The usual shit, but it gives me something to focus on rather than all the young adults surrounding me or the crappy music playing a little too loudly.

I scan the menu when I am the second one in line, vowing to try something new. It's the only reason I go to places like this.

They have all kinds of shit that I never would have put together.

It seems like almost anything can go on top of macaroni and cheese or a baked potato, and everything can be made into a grilled cheese.

Kids eat weird.

But I guess so do I since I drove here.

When it's my turn, I decide on an order of pulled pork mac and cheese. Based on the picture, it's loaded with slow-roasted pork, house-made BBQ sauce, crispy fried onions, fried jalapeños, and spicy queso.

I also ordered a pimento cheeseburger with bacon and onion rings on top.

It’s not my usual menu, I prefer to eat healthy enough to maintain my physique with regular trips to the gym, but, like I said, this wasn't a regular day.

This hadn't been a regular week.

I want to binge out on my front porch with a few shots of bourbon until I can't feel my face.

While I wait for my food, I feel the woosh of air from the door opening.

Of course, it had opened about a dozen times, but this time, I felt the overwhelming need to turn around and look. My body was acting on its own before I could even register why I cared.

And fuck I'm glad I did.

This goddess of a young woman walks in as I spin around. I don't know if it's her or the setting sun behind her, but she looks angelic.

Long honey-brown hair hangs down her back in some sort of thick braid, but a few pieces have fallen out to frame her slender and tanned face.

Her skin looks flawless, perfectly tan, and littered with gorgeous sun-kissed freckles like some sort of beach goddess.

Even from here, I can see her warm honey eyes shining bright in the sun and highlighting a range of browns.

While she may look thin, she has a slight curve to her waist and her legs seem to go on for miles. Even her small, perky breasts seem to fit her body perfectly.

Fuck, she looks amazing.

She looks like she doesn't belong here just as badly as me, just for a whole different reason.

She's wearing a pair of ripped-up jean shorts, suede ankle boots, a white tank top with some older band written on the front, and an almost bohemian-style long-sleeve cover made of lace that hangs down past her shorts.

She looks like someone who would've been at a festival in the '70s or someone you'd find in the woods casting a spell to the moon or something like that.

Nothing like my usual type of woman. I prefer women in formal clothes, business attire, high profile women that have to pencil you in for dates but fuck you in the back of their fancy car.

So why can't I stop staring at this young woman?

Not only is she far too young for me, but she's not my type. She looks like she's the type of girl to grill me about eating a steak because of how cute cows are. She looks like the type to have ahouse full of plants and candles, probably one who would yell at me for not driving a hybrid car.

I wish that would deter me, but it doesn't. I can't stop staring.

She's captivating.

Even when she's doing just about everything in her power not to make eye contact with anyone, most of the guys in this shithole are staring at her, and I doubt the girl even notices that they're tracing their eyes up her mile-long legs until they're practically drooling over her ass in those fucking shorts.

---