The wind through the windows is already trying to tug her hair, strand by strand, out of the ponytail. Nothing pinned up, slicked in place like when she's on duty, every hair perfect and precise; it's the weekend, she's hanging out with one of her favorite people, and a messy ponytail is as good as it's going to get, today.
Besides, it feels good. Warm, and cool and the same time, toying with the fine strands at her temples and forehead, sunshine thick everywhere around them, music drifting with the wind tunnel sound of open windows and a fast drive. The truck pushes through traffic the way Steve pushes through a crowd, all large frame, shouldering people gently out of the way. Cars meander, sunlight sparkling off paint and glass, windows open, hands lying easy out the driver's side windows, surfboards moving through the roads like they're some new kind of wave.
Everybody looking cheerful, relaxed. It's Hawaii, right? Land of eternal vacation. An island paradise. She's seen all kinds of places in the world: cities and deserts, one port much like another, surrounded by the gray of metal and the blue bowl of sea and sky, but Hawaii is still a spot all it's own.
It's partly down to Steve, sure, but she'd have to be pretty far gone on the guy to say that he's the only charm a place like this has.
"You know, I could get used to this," she says, leaning back, getting comfortable. "If we're here long enough, I may even get to surf a little. Try out this mysterious R&R I keep hearing about."
And maybe -- maybe -- keep an eye on Steve, who is looking fine, sitting over there, all loose shoulders, listening to his classic rock, but she hasn't known him for so long for nothing.
And it might not be such a bad thing to see more of him for a little while, either.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-01-24 04:31 pm (UTC)Besides, it feels good. Warm, and cool and the same time, toying with the fine strands at her temples and forehead, sunshine thick everywhere around them, music drifting with the wind tunnel sound of open windows and a fast drive. The truck pushes through traffic the way Steve pushes through a crowd, all large frame, shouldering people gently out of the way. Cars meander, sunlight sparkling off paint and glass, windows open, hands lying easy out the driver's side windows, surfboards moving through the roads like they're some new kind of wave.
Everybody looking cheerful, relaxed. It's Hawaii, right? Land of eternal vacation. An island paradise. She's seen all kinds of places in the world: cities and deserts, one port much like another, surrounded by the gray of metal and the blue bowl of sea and sky, but Hawaii is still a spot all it's own.
It's partly down to Steve, sure, but she'd have to be pretty far gone on the guy to say that he's the only charm a place like this has.
"You know, I could get used to this," she says, leaning back, getting comfortable. "If we're here long enough, I may even get to surf a little. Try out this mysterious R&R I keep hearing about."
And maybe -- maybe -- keep an eye on Steve, who is looking fine, sitting over there, all loose shoulders, listening to his classic rock, but she hasn't known him for so long for nothing.
And it might not be such a bad thing to see more of him for a little while, either.