The Figure

Protagonize tennis!

Sloan watched the figure emerge from the fog as he readjusted his hat on his head of the hundredth time, his grey eyes narrowing as the wind blew harshly.
“You’re late,” he called as the figure neared, her heels clicking against the rocky terrain.
“Only fashionably,” she told him, her dress billowing around her and fixing her purse on her shoulder.
“What news have you brought?” Sloan demanded, glaring at her.
“Dinner, first,” she said with a smile. “It’s been awhile, Lorris.”
Sloan nodded and kissed both of her cheeks, considering swiping her wallet at their proximity.
“Don’t even think about it,” she whispered in his ear as she pulled away. “Dinner, first.”

The End

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