There is a company called “Vector” that sends out “work opportunity” letters in the mail for graduating seniors. It’s a scam. They promise a nice $17 an hour for zero experience which should be a red flag. It’s a multi level marketing scheme that preys on kids trying to make money for college and it’s gross. If you get one of these letters in the mail, just toss it in the recycle. Some of you may have heard of this or have already received one of these in the mail, but I just wanted to post about it just in case!
A little something chelsie for @csota who prompted me the other day. Took me way longer to get this done than it should for the length of it and I went a little off prompt woops. (It also had a whole other concept involving cups of tea and Charles phaffing with his packing that is now sitting abandoned in my drafts).
Thanks for the prompt love; I really enjoyed dipping back into these two again.
She Lingers
Charles is already in the car, valise perched precariously on his lap, when his actions catch up with him.
She lingered about him as he moved through the house and out the back door, the scent of her keeping close. And he remembers wondering if she were following close behind him, only to catch a glimpse of the hallway in a mirror and finding it empty.
He understands now, how the vanilla scent of her is caught in his nose. Why his hands are curled tightly in his lap as though to hold something close, afraid it might escape. Why they feel warm and he now knows exactly how well his thumb fits against her collar bone.
The skin of her cheek was soft and warm and he should not know that. It’s a secret he has imagined learning but not one that he has the right to.
He took her hand at the beach but this is different.
This is a part of knowing her he never expected to own. And yet he has stolen it. He is the worst kind of thief, because he does not regret it.
Oh, his heart is pounding and he can feel the sweat coming to his brow and no doubt he will spend the journey to the London house berating himself for losing control. His first letter to her will be awkward and he won’t be able to settle until he sees her again in person; stands beside her in her sitting room and knows from the ease of her smile and the glass of sherry she presses into his hand that he is forgiven. If he is forgiven.
But he can’t regret it. Not when he remembers the smile that slipped across her face as the shock wore off.
The way her hand had slid across his back as he clasped her shoulder and lent in.
How he can almost believe she pursed her lips against his own cheek as he pulled back, before he grabbed his hat and coat and headed for the door. He changed his world with an absent minded action and he hardly noticed.
The car rumbles beneath him and the tyres crunch against the gravel and when he raises his head there she is. Tucked up against the side wall, a hand raised to her cheek, the other flat against her chest. He imagines her heart beneath her fingers beating as hard as his own.
The smile she offers is full of secrets and hope and it stays with him almost as long as the powdery taste of her that rests on his lips.
Perhaps that first letter won’t be as awkward as he feared; there are words other than apologies after all, that it might finally be time he use.
The car pulls away from the house and for a little longer he can still catch the scent of vanilla.
‘My new hairstyle was my husband’s idea… and I love it!’
Downton Abbey star Phyllis Logan tells Anna Bonet about the joy of playing Mrs Hughes again, meeting George Clooney and why she took the plunge with a new look