Exquisite Perspective Ch. 01

The stranger paused. "You're from the flower shop, Martha's flower shop, right? Are you the Martha of Martha's flowers?"

Amelia shook her head and stuck her hand out. "Yes, but no. Martha was my mother. I'm Amelia," the stranger took Amelia's hand with delicacy. Her palm was soft and her fingers lingered a few seconds longer than a normal handshake deemed.

"Morgan Burke. My sister Allison is so excited to get her flowers from you," she claimed, finally letting go of Amelia's hand, "I'm sorry about your pizza. Please let me get you another slice."

Amelia shook her head. "No, no, really it's okay."

Morgan persisted. "At least let me buy you some fudge. I've heard Shriver's is the best place to get fudge around here," she smiled.

Amelia laughed. "I actually prefer Fudge Kitchen."

"Let me treat you to some Fudge Kitchen, then," she smiled.

The store in question was roughly two blocks down the boardwalk and they abstained from talking as they weaved through the tourists, the chatter around them too boisterous. When they reached the store, Amelia's senses were assaulted by the heavily effluvious scent of chocolate and sugar as Morgan held the door open for her. The air conditioning was lovely in contrast to the humidity from outside.

Morgan stepped up to the glass covered display case in awe, her dark eyes wide. "Holy crap, that's a lot of options," she exclaimed.

Amelia laughed and couldn't stop herself from placing a tentative hand on Morgan's back, the contact pleasantly warm against her palm. "The peanut butter one is my favorite," she mused close to the taller woman's ear. Her actions were out a character for her, but Amelia found herself helpless around the attractive woman. Morgan ordered a variety and when they stepped outside, she handed Amelia the paper bag.

Amelia led her to a small bench close to the railing, the sounds of the ocean warring with the voices and laughter from people passing by. The bench faced the dunes and the water, a lifeguard stand visible in the sand.

"Do you live down here?" Amelia inquired popping a piece of peanut butter fudge into her mouth as she sat on the bench. Morgan sat a few inches from her, taking a piece of white chocolate fudge from the bag.

Morgan smiled, "Nah, I'm actually from Philadelphia," she answered somewhat shyly.

"Ah, then you're a legitimate shoobie!" Amelia giggled.

Morgan shrugged and smirked. "I guess I am. My sister and I used to come visit our aunt every summer as kids. She's got a little vacation house toward the southern tip of the island. Of all the places my sister and her fiancé decided to get married, they chose here. I guess it's a good a place as any," Morgan took a bit of the white fudge and smiled, her eyes closing, "Damn, that's good."

Amelia felt herself smile at the thought of pressing her lips to Morgan's and she stopped herself. Where the hell did that thought come from? I don't even know her.

"How long have you been running the flower shop?" Morgan inquired, her face genuinely curious.

Amelia sighed and shifted in her spot in visible discomfort of the digression. "Just the last five or so months. My mother was in charge before. She started renting the property when I was in middle school. It was her dream to be a florist and she was really good at it," Amelia shared, hesitation holding her from saying more. A flash of sympathy passed Morgan's face and Amelia felt herself soften.

"Well, you really know your flowers. I wouldn't know the difference between a rose and a carnation," Morgan admitted, causing Amelia to laugh.

"Thanks, I learned quickly. So, what do you do?" Amelia gently probed.

Morgan threw her a lofty smirk. "I'm a realtor up in Philly. It's fun and I get to see some beautiful houses, but the clients can be a pain. What did you do before you took over at the shop?" Morgan's tone was light, and Amelia appreciated her not inquiring further about why she took over ownership.

Amelia assumed she must've been quite intuitive. "Freelance writing and I've also published a few horror novels and novellas," she answered, looking down at the fudge in her hand. She didn't know why she was suddenly so forthright with the mere stranger.

Morgan straightened with excitement. "Oh that's my favorite genre! What's your last name? I wonder if I've ever read anything of yours."

Amelia chuckled and momentarily paused, "I'm published under A.R. Lincoln," she bit her lip as recognition widened Morgan's eyes.

"I totally thought you were a dude," Morgan admitted causing both of them to laugh.

After Amelia's laughter subsided, she replied with, "I can't believe you've read my work."

"I can't believe I'm sitting next to the author of Fallacious Devil and that you're a florist," Morgan chuckled. The book she spoke of was one of Amelia's first published works and it was a dark psychological thriller about a man killing his wife in a sudden psychosis.

Morgan ran one of her hands through her hair, still in disbelief. "I truly thought up until the end he was possessed by the devil. You're good at what you do and you really have a way with words," she insisted, laying a hand on Amelia's forearm. Her fingers were light on her arm, her skin tingling with the contact.

"Do you like Skee-Ball?" Amelia digressed, worried if they sat there any longer, she wouldn't stop herself from kissing the woman.

Morgan titled her head slightly with a perplexed look. "Like, the game where you throw balls?" Amelia nodded and, with a chuckle, she led Morgan to the arcade.

JiLLy's arcade was nestled on the corner of the boardwalk and 12th street, filled with an abundance of teens and older children essentially all year long. Through her adolescence, Amelia found solace in the compact building, surrounded by flashing lights, chiming games and the clatter of coins spilling from the quarter machine. Rather than being an onslaught of overstimulation, she found the overwhelming ambiance allowed her brain to slip into a state of quiescence.

They stood in the entryway of the building, the wall to their left nothing but a bank of Skee-Ball lanes. The sounds of her youth filled the area, reverberating off the dome shaped ceiling and brick-red wooden floors. Games sat in front of them, from crane machines to old fashioned pinball games featuring a variety of characters.

Morgan's eyes scanned the space and her irises held a glimmer of gold in the bright twinkling lights of Dance, Dance, Revolution. Amelia found herself transfixed. One simple kiss on those pouty lips wouldn't be too much to allot herself.

Morgan watched her expectantly and Amelia realized she hadn't heard her speak. "Huh?"

"I said this place is awesome. Do you want to play that?" Morgan inquired to the dancing game, three preteens playing as the colorful arrows on the platform where they stood flashed rapidly.

Amelia shook her head dramatically, holding up her hands. "Oh, no I can't dance. I'd probably land my butt right on the floor," she answered, vexed the game was still in operation. It held a huge screen, standing taller than her 5'9" and the flat platform held colorful squares with arrows inside. The premise of the game was to watch the screen's arrows and the player was to correspond the movement of their feet on the base of the stage. The trio of kids hopped down from the game.

Morgan laughed at her reaction and, without a word, she dug in her pocket, retrieving her wallet before walking over to the change machine. After her hands were full of at least five dollars' worth of quarters, she stepped up to the now vacant game and reached out an open hand to Amelia. "Come on," she beckoned Amelia, who shook her head yet again. "You can just stand up here and watch. You know you want to," Morgan sang with a smirk.

Warily, Amelia obliged and grabbed hold of her hand and the bars on the back of the platform, climbing onto the semi-raised surface as the music's volume shifted to a boisterous intonation. Morgan tapped on the screen and chose the advanced setting.

Amelia gaped. "Bad idea. I don't think I can move that fast," she watched as the large screen shimmered into a cartoon character dancing on the side while arrows in various directions flew down the screen in the middle.

Morgan chuckled, and her long legs were already moving, her flip flops smacking the base of the stage. Amelia giggled, moving her feet to the edge and letting the other woman take over the game. Her body was lithe, but Amelia could see her muscles rippling in her calves and beneath the blue fabric of her shirt. Maybe more than one kiss was in order.

Finally, the song concluded and Amelia stepped down onto the floor. "You've got some moves," Amelia noted as Morgan jumped down from the stage. "You won that game, now let me kick your butt at some Skee-Ball."

Morgan looked at her dubiously. "Oh, this is a competition all of a sudden?"

Amelia nodded with a smile. "Yes, so come on," she reached her hand out and Morgan took it. The feeling of Morgan's hand in her own felt unusually natural, her skin soft and fingers warm. They made their way to an open lane and inserted some quarters into the slot.

A vintage milk crate was positioned next to the lane full of heavy brown balls. Morgan picked one up tentatively and rolled it up the inclined lane, immediately scoring in one of two of the tiny 100 point circles.

Amelia let out a low whistle and picked up a ball. "Not bad," Amelia began, making eye contact with Morgan before continuing, "for a shoobie."

Morgan scoffed and grabbed another ball as Amelia shot hers. With a groan, Amelia watched her ball dip into the 25 point hole, missing her goal.

Morgan raised her dark eyebrows, a crooked smile on her face. "Shoobies get it done," Morgan declared, her lips still quirked in a smirk. Amelia stepped closer to her, body drawn to Morgan. She decided she'd allow herself one kiss. Just one.

Morgan licked the object of Amelia's affection, her eyes watching Amelia with amusement. As if her ears were muffled, the sounds around Amelia were muted as she felt herself moving toward Morgan.

The rattle of her phone vibrating against her leg snapped her auditory senses back from wherever they had gone. She nearly grumbled aloud as she pulled it from her shorts pocket and took a step back. A text from Meg had popped up on her screen.

Do you want me to close the shop? Cuz I've never done it and I don't wanna mess it up

"Crap," Amelia whispered.

"What's up?"

"I'm sorry. I've got to go close down the shop," Amelia explained with regret. "Thank you for treating me to fudge and the games."

Morgan touched her arm and Amelia noted she could hardly think with her so close. "You're welcome," she paused, "Can I have your number?"

Amelia grinned, "Of course you can," she rattled off her number.

Morgan smiled as she punched the digits in her smart phone, finally letting her hand fall from Amelia's arm. "I still owe you pizza or at least a real dinner replacement."

Amelia shook her head but conceded, "Okay, okay. How about lunch tomorrow?"

"Sounds good to me," Morgan smiled. Amelia could practically feel the charisma flowing from the woman as she left the arcade and stepped onto the boardwalk.

The storm had passed without a drop of rain and a cold gust whipping off the water caused Amelia to shiver in her lightweight clothing. She peered up at the sky as she made her way toward the shop, noticing the deep black clouds had moved on, being replaced with stars. That's South Jersey for you, she thought as she entered her mother's store, her mind lingering on Morgan.

**

Amelia sat in the office, her fingers hovering over the keyboard of her laptop. It was half past noon and she still hadn't made much progress in her short story edit. With an aggravated sigh, she shut the computer. The sound of voices from the front of the shop could be heard over the ticking of her Mom's old Felix the Cat cuckoo clock.

She closed her eyes, attempting to secure some fleeting meditative state in order to rip her out of her writer's block. Unfortunately, her thoughts immediately shifted to warm hazel eyes and soft lips.

She smiled despite her mental plight. It was futile to deny the yearning Morgan provoked within her. The universe pulled her back to the real world, her phone chiming loudly in the quiet room. She picked it up.

Hey, it's your favorite shoobie. How about that lunch? Anywhere around here have pork roll egg and cheese this late in the day?

Amelia felt herself smile as she decided a weekend indulgence wouldn't hurt anything. Maybe it would help her claw her way out of writer's block.

I think I know a place.

An hour later, Amelia sat across from the handsome realtor in the veranda of a boardwalk eatery, watching her attempt delicacy as she ate the rumpled sandwich. She tried to snuff her giggle but Morgan's peer informed her that she was cognizant of her laughter. "What?"

"You can't really eat that without making a mess, you know, especially when you order the eggs over easy," she mused. Morgan looked at her yolk covered fingers holding the kaiser roll, the cheese and pork threatening to slip out from between the bread. She smiled sheepishly at Amelia before taking another bite. Amelia sighed with longing before finishing off her own sandwich.

A thick humidity permeated the air around them such as the night before, but, this time, Amelia hoped there wouldn't be a storm. She wanted to spend as much time as possible with the alluring woman across from her. Not that she believed Morgan would be perturbed by a bit of rain. A small flock of seagulls lined the railing of the boardwalk to their left, eyeing the women's food anxiously.

Amelia stole a glance at the beach. The horizon had become heavily blanketed by grey clouds and the sun was quickly being obscured, darkening the blue sky. "Do you want to take a walk on the beach?" Morgan suggested.

"I'm actually a really bad local. I haven't bought a beach tag in years," Amelia admitted. She understood the fees for the beach were to maintain the grounds and staffed lifeguards, but the price was too steep for her to bother. "But, we could walk down to the fishing pier," she counter-offered.

The Pier jutted out onto the beach, set perpendicular to the boardwalk and partially immersed in the water. By the time the two women stood at the archway to the dock, many of the beachgoers below had taken leave from the area with the impending storm pressing on the shoreline. "Maybe we should hit up the arcade again so we don't get electrocuted," Morgan snorted.

A crack of lightning lit up the sky toward the horizon, casting an eerie glow over the water before it disappeared, followed by a low rumble of thunder. Amelia glanced at Morgan, her dark eyes a flaxen hue in the dull light. A fat rain drop plopped on Amelia's forehead and she giggled.

Morgan reached up and wiped the drop away, her thumb caressing Amelia's cheek. Amelia gulped down the sudden passion that flared through her as she stared at Morgan.

Their lips met, neither of them knowing who had moved first, but equally clinging to the heated contact. A cascade of rain began to fall over them, Morgan's short hair sticking to her face and neck, Amelia's fingers tangling in the damp locks, pulling her closer until their bodies were against one another. Morgan's arms wrapped around Amelia as she nipped her lower lip, her nipples hardening from more than the chilled rain.

She pulled back and looked into Morgan's eyes. "We're getting all wet," she chuckled at the dual meaning of her statement.

Morgan dipped her head down, possessing her lips again with more urgency, her tongue sweeping across Amelia's lips. "Do you want to come back to my hotel room so we can dry off?" Morgan alluded, the fervency in her gaze piercing.

Amelia threaded her fingers in Morgan's, leading her down the dock to the small covered portion of the attached bait shop. The sounds of countless foot falls were heard smacking against the damp wood of the boardwalk as people fled from the downpour.

She leaned her back to the wall of the closed bait shop, a handful of Morgan's soaked tee shirt in each of her fists, urging Morgan's body against her own as their kiss continued. Morgan's knee insinuated itself between Amelia's legs and she moaned loudly into Morgan's open mouth.

Morgan held Amelia's head as her tongue raked the roof of her mouth, eliciting the most pleasant sensation. She pulled back and stared into Amelia's eyes. "My hotel isn't too far," she murmured. The temptation was drowning as Amelia saw the longing and promise of passion in those obsidian eyes.

She hesitated before shaking her head, pulling herself back from the mesmerizing stare. "I've got to get back to the shop. I'll take a rain check," she whispered, kissing Morgan again.

Reluctantly, she disengaged herself from Morgan's strong hold, the rain still pelting them as they stepped away from the awning of the bait shop. She had to get Morgan's hands off of her or she was going to take her up on her offer, her resolve diminishing even just with Morgan's eyes watching her. Amelia took in the empty boardwalk, the tourists and passerby alike hiding out in open storefronts, arcades and food courts to shield themselves from the rain.

"Can I see you again tomorrow?" Morgan beseeched.

"I'd like that," Amelia said as she turned, admitting to herself that the one kiss wasn't going to be sufficient.

**

The shop was relatively busy that Sunday morning, affording little time for Amelia to write. When Meg came in for her afternoon shift, she was relieved to be able to go to the quiet of the back office and try to crank out some lines. As she sat at the desk and opened her laptop, her phone buzzed with a text from Morgan.

I still owe you a real dinner.

She sat back and reread the text. The woman was quite alluring and Amelia realized the thought of spending another evening with her was too good to pass up. Regardless of her lack of progress with her book or her mental declaration of not having time for relationships of any kind two days prior, she was going to dinner with Morgan. There was something about Morgan that intrigued her beyond her looks and she couldn't deny their chemistry.

That sounds fantastic. Where were you thinking?

She waited for a response but decided to put her phone down and try to get some work done. A few moments later, another text came through.

Is Spadafora on Atlantic any good?

She knew of it but hadn't been.

Never been. We can try it out together. How about 7ish?

Morgan's reply:

Okay. I'll meet you there at 7

Amelia couldn't help the giddiness she felt at going on a date for the first time in at least eight months, not counting their lunch. She had been on somewhat of a hiatus from the dating scene when her mother fell ill, leaving nothing behind when she took her leave.

She had rushed home to be with her Mom, cutting her lease short in Cape May and putting her furniture in storage, only bringing essentials with her.

And, as she swam through her mess that was her clothing in the closet two hours later, Amelia noticed she hadn't officially unpacked all of her things. She couldn't find a specific blouse and decided to forgo the search, debating between a cocktail dress, that she couldn't find, or her favorite skirt, which she couldn't find. With a sigh of defeat, she chose a maroon blouse and some jeans with a lightweight black sweater before heading to the shower.

They sat across from one another at a tiny wooden table by the far back of the restaurant, the boisterous laughter of other patrons somewhat muffled in their booth. Morgan's warm smile coaxed Amelia out of her shell, stirring a sense of unrelenting fondness beyond the attraction. She wore a grey silk button up and dark jeans, the swell of her breasts evident beneath the soft fabric. Amelia could hardly hold in her desire to touch Morgan. She told herself she didn't want anything more than perhaps a quick summer fling, igniting like a sparkler only to fizzle out seconds later.