Signe   had   been   pretending  not   to   watch   the   time   all   afternoon. 

“It’s   such   a   comfort   food   for   me,” Signe   began,   reaching   for   a   cream   filled   bun.   She   lifted   the   bun’s   lid   and   dipped   it   into   the   mountain   of   paste   underneath   and   took   a   bite.   She   paused   mid-bite   as   the   flavors   hit   her   tongue,   her   eyebrows   raising.   She   hadn’t   expected   it   to   taste   so   spot-on.   With   a   grin,   Signe   dipped   her   finger   into   the   almond   paste   and   gave   it   a   quick   taste.   “Okay,   this,”   she   pointed   at   the   half-eaten   bun. “This   is   dangerous.”    He   flushed   at   her   compliment,   and   Signe   smiled   to   herself.   “Well,   the   effort   is   appreciated,   trouble   or   no,”   she   countered.   She   shifted   to   sit   sideways,   her   legs   curled   underneath   her. “I also   noticed   time   moved   particularly   slow   this   afternoon.”   Signe   met   his   gaze,   a   knowing   twinkle   in   her   eyes.   Charlie   leaned   back,   one   arm   propped   under   his   head,   and   a   self-assured   glint   in   his   eyes   that   screamed   he   just knew   how   it   made   him   look.   Her   pulse   skipped   a   beat   as   he   turned   his   full   attention   on   her.   It   was   more   than   just   the   effortless   flirtation   that   seemed   to   flow   out   of   him,   but   the   warmth   behind   his   gaze   –   like   he   genuinely   wanted   to   know   more.   Her   gaze   dropped,   her   fingers   fidgeting   with   the   edge   of   the   blanket   as   she   tried   to   keep   her   expression   from   betraying   how   flustered   she   was. “You did   kind   of   monologue   last   time,”   she   teased,   glancing   at   Charlie   from   underneath   her   eyelashes.   Her   eyebrows   rose,   her   eyes   blinking   rapidly   at   his   words. “Date   number   three,   huh?” Her   tone   was   light,   and   full   of   teasing. “Bold   of   you   to   assume   you’re   making   it   past   the   first   one.”   Signe   nudged   him   lightly   with   her   knee,   her   expression   a   dead   giveaway   that   she   liked   the   confidence.   Normally,   she   wasn’t   the   kind   of   girl   who   divulged   much   of   anything   beyond   the   curated   image   she   wanted   to   put   out,   but   the   way   Charlie   looked   at   her   made   her want   to   open   up.  “I’m   an   only   child,”   she   began. “My   mom’s   Chinese-Swedish,   and   my   dad’s   Danish-Swedish.   They   are   sickeningly   perfect   together   and   so   in   love.   They   had   me   super   young,   but   they’ve   given   me   absolutely everything.”   Signe   paused   as   she   thought   about   how   much   her   parents   had   sacrificed   for   her,   especially   in   those   early   years   of   their   marriage. “They’re   also   both   brilliant   –   Mamma   is   an   art   history   professor,   and   Pappa   is   an   orthopedic   surgeon.   I   actually   credit   my   mom   for   getting   me   into   fashion,   whether   or   not   she   realized   what   was   happening   in   the   moment.   I   used   to   go   with   her   to   museums   all   the   time   and   there   was   this   one   exhibit   on   medieval   fashion   in   Europe   and–”   She   smiled,   shaking   her   head   as   she   refocused   her   attention   on   Charlie.   “I   was   a   goner   from   then.   It   was   my   dirty   little   secret   for   so   long   –   until   college   applications   were   around   the   corner   and   I   just   blurted   out   that   I   wanted   to   do   fashion   design.”   Signe   chuckled   at   the   memory,   and   shrugged   her   shoulders   at   him   as   if   to   say   ‘the   rest   is   history.’

The way Signe’s face lit up at the mention of semla had Charlie’s heart damn near stumbling over itself. All the time he’d spent stressing over the food and double-checking the setup felt instantly worth it. “I had no idea it was your favorite,” he admitted, eyes crinkling with his smile, “but I’m chuffed I landed on the right one.” Her laugh, the soft and delighted kind, made his pulse quicken, and his grin grew a little sheepish. “I know, I keep sayin’ it… but I mean it. Wouldn’t sit right with me to keep it to myself.”

When she complimented the setup, he waved his hand, bashful, his own cheeks flushing pink beneath the praise. “Oh, it weren’t any trouble, promise... Honestly, it helped. Gave me somethin’ to focus on while I was waitin’.” His gaze dropped for a second, then lifted back to hers, a hint of vulnerability tucked into his smile. “Felt like time weren't movin' fast enough.”

Charlie shifted, leaning back on his elbow, stretching out onto his side as he propped his head against his hand, more relaxed now that the ice was broken. He watched her with open admiration, the glow of the setting sun casting soft gold across her features. “You know,” he continued, voice dipping into something playful but sincere, “last time we were out, I did most of the talkin’.. Told you my story, spilled me guts…” His eyes softened as they held hers. “But I don’t really know much about you yet. Feels like I’m overdue.”

Charlie’s smile turned curious, a little more inviting. “So… tell me. Fashion, family, the whole beginner’s guide to Signe. I wanna know what makes you you. What lights you up the way cookin’ does for me.” His fingers absentmindedly toyed with the corner of the blanket, though his focus stayed locked on her. There was no rush behind the words, just an easy kind of patience, the look of someone who truly wanted to listen. “Unless…” He tilted his head slightly, teasing, “you’re secretly a woman of mystery and I’m not meant to know these things until date number three?” The smirk that tugged at his mouth was soft, good-natured, but the way his eyes stayed steady on her, the way he leaned in just a touch closer, was anything but casual.

Watching   Charlie   react   to   her   playlist   was   surprisingly   one   of   the   more   intimate   experiences   of   her   life.    They   were   both   allowing   songs   say   the   words   they   were   too   scared   or   hesitant   to   say   out   loud   and   then   the reactions? The   subtle   touches   of   acknowledgement   and   acceptance.   It   sent   every   nerve-ending   of   hers   on   fire.   She   giggled   at   the   way   the   absolutely   lit   up   at   the   A*Teens   cover   of  Mamma   Mia   and   found   another   reason   to   sit   him   down   in   front   of   one   of   her   favorite   musicals   one   of   these   days.  “Sure,   I’m   not   afraid   of   a   good   karaoke   stage,” she   grinned. He   lay   back   when Night   Changes   came   on,   and   her   eyes   were   glued   on   him   as   he   mouthed   the   lyrics.   His   hand   found   hers   and   she   squeezed   it   gently,   silent   acknowledgement.   When   he   glanced   at   her   talking   about   the  right person,   she   smiled   shyly   breaking   the   eye   contact.   “You’re   sounding   very   philosophical   these   days,   y’know?”  The   song   shifted   again   and   she   wasn’t   sure   what   was   more   overwhelming.   The   way   that   Charlie’s   whole   body   had   responded   to   the   song,   or   the   fact   that   he  didn’t   try   to   hide   it.   He   didn’t   pretend   it   wasn’t   affecting   him.   He   just   looked   at   her   like   he  saw   her   and   felt   all   the   heat   she’d   meant   to   bottle   into   that   song   and   decided   he   wanted   it.   And   then… If   dinner   weren’t   in   the   oven… Frankly,   dinner   wouldn’t   have   stopped   her.   She   was   about   to   say   as   much,   but   Charlie   stood   and   walked   away.   That   fact   didn’t   break   the   spell,   but   it   just   made   her   smirk.   Her   eyes   followed   him   as   he   walked   back   to   the   kitchen,   calling   over   his   shoulder   to   set   the   movie   up.   She   rested   her   arms   on   the   back   of   the   couch   and   just   looked   at   him   for   a   moment.   Her   cheeks   were   flushed   and   her   heart   was   racing,   but   she   couldn’t   help   the   giddy   feeling   she   had   knowing   she’d   affected   him   like   that.   She   reached   for   the   remote   and   queued   up   the   movie,   but   didn’t   press   play,   waiting   for   him   to   return   with   their   meal.   Signe   sank   back   into   the   couch,   curling   her   legs   underneath   her,   before   she   called   back,   playful   and   undeniably   flirty.  “Just   so   you   know…that   was   the  mild   playlist.”   A   beat   and   then.  “I   have   another   one,   but   you’d   probably   need   to   cancel   all   your   dinner   plans   for   that   one.”

Charlie gave a low, quiet laugh as her first song played, his blush rising again, this time not from embarrassment, but from the weight of what she wasn’t saying out loud. Think I Wanna See You Again. He didn’t need the explanation. He just glanced at her, lips parting like he might say something, but then shut his mouth again. Instead, he reached over and let his hand rest lightly on her thigh, thumb tracing an idle, slow circle against the fabric there. "I was already plannin’ on seein’ you again," he said finally, voice just barely above a whisper. "But… nice to know it’s mutual."

When White Houses came on, he listened with quiet focus, watching her from the side. He could see how grounded she was in the lyrics, like they held parts of her story she hadn’t said out loud. When she mentioned her move, he gave a small nod, nudging her knee with his. "I get that," he murmured. "Feelin’ like you’re brand new somewhere and tryin’ to look like you’ve always belonged." And then Mamma Mia started. He looked over at her, grinning like he’d just caught her red-handed. "You're jokin' me! My mum is obsessed with Abba. And with that musical too, yeah?" Charlie laughed, delighted. "That’s brilliant! We never had this remix-y madness. I feel like I’m hearin’ ABBA on a sugar high. Might have to add this to my workout playlist." He reached for his wine, still chuckling, and looked at her with soft, amused eyes as he took a sip. "You realise this means you have to sing one of these at karaoke with me someday, yeah?"

As Night Changes came on, something in him shifted. He placed his wine back down, leaning back to rest his head on the back of the couch. Charlie let the song wash over him, his eyes fluttering shut like it was instinct. The lyrics held a kind of gentle ache he hadn’t noticed before, not when he was sixteen, fumbling through the chords of the song, trying to impress a girl who didn’t know his name. But here, now, with Signe beside him, it hit differently. He reached out, without opening his eyes, and found her hand again, interlacing their fingers. When the last note faded, he didn’t let go. "I like that one," he said softly. "Feels like it means more now than it ever did when I was a kid." He looked at her, gaze steady and honest. "Maybe that’s the thing about the right person.. they make old songs feel new."

And then, Dangerous Woman. Charlie sat up straighter the second the sultry opening hit the speakers. His entire body tensed, not in discomfort, but in heightened awareness. Of her. Of the song. Of everything left unsaid between them. He'd heard it before, in pubs, in clubs, maybe even in the locker room once or twice, but he'd never heard it in this context. It had never felt this powerful. "Oh, bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, letting out a nervous laugh. His thumb dragged down his bottom lip as he tried, and failed, to keep a straight face. "If dinner weren’t in the oven, I’d be suggestin’ we table the rest of the playlist and revisit this one. Thoroughly." His voice was teasing, but there was a genuine flush to his cheeks now, the tension in his jaw not entirely performative. Charlie stood, forcing himself to break the spell before he did something impulsive. "Right, okay. That’s me ruined," he called over his shoulder as he made his way to the kitchen. "You mind settin’ up the movie, love? I’ll plate us up." There was a long beat of silence, and then, from the kitchen "… Also, that was the hottest playlist I’ve ever been emotionally wrecked by. So thanks for that!"

- High Strung (2016)

Signe   Holmström   had   always   been   someone   who   carefully   thought   and   planned   through   everything.   Not   that   she   was   disingenuous,   but   she  wanted   people   to   like   her.   And   so,   she   made   sure   to   always   put   forward   the   best   version   of   herself   –   the   one   that   was   nice,   and   polite,   and   charming   and   never   too   much,   too   soon.   But   being   around   Charlie,   who   was   so   transparent   and   forthcoming   with   her.   It   made   it   hard   not   to   want   to   meet   him   in   the   middle   and   be   just   as   authentic   and   unfiltered.   Her   cheeks   flush   at   his   admission,   and   she   tilted   her   head,   looking   up   at   him   like   she   couldn’t   quite   believe   he   was   real. “You’re   so   dramatic,”   she   chided,   but   there   was   a   softness   in   her   voice.   Behind   her   teasing   there   was   a   quiet   kind   of   awe   in   the   way   she   studied   him.  She   let   out   an   amused   chuckle   as   he   called   himself   flawed,   raw   affection   curling   through   her   chest.   Flaws   and   all,   she   was   really   liking   him,   although   it   felt   scary   to   say   out   loud.   He   laid   out   his   future   plans   with   that   cocky,   casual   certainty   that   made   her   laugh   again,   warm   and   bright. “Not   that   I’m   doubting   your   teaching   skills,”   she   began. “But   you’ve   never   seen   me   near   a   hot   pan.   Yet   you’re   so   sure   I’ll   survive   your   cooking   lessons.”   Signe   giggled   again,   and   added   quietly: “But   I’m   still   looking   forward   to   it.”   Charlie   pressed   a   kiss   to   her   nose   and   her   breath   caught   just   a   little.   The   absolute   tenderness   of   it   all   was   what   truly   did   her   in.   She   looked   up   at   him,   eyes   flickering   between   his   and   his   mouth   for   the   briefest   second,   and   then   smiled   shyly   and   averted   her   gaze.   His   playful   accusation   that  she   was   trouble   had   her   fighting   a   smile.   It   wasn’t   fair   at   all,   how   quickly   he   had   her   guard   down. He   was   trouble   and   she   knew   it,   but   she   found   that   she   didn’t   really   care.   As   they   walked,   she   happily   accepted   the   semla,   but   narrowed   her   eyes   at   him   in   playful   suspicion. “You’re   just   trying   to   bribe   me   for   a   good   post-date   review,” she   muttered,   taking   a   bite   anyway.   As   they   walked   alongside   each   other,   Signe   finishing   the   delicious   semla   and   their   hands   finding   one   another,   she   found   herself   glancing   around   the   the   dwindling   festivities.   The   night   had   been   everything   she’d   hoped   for   and more.   She   just   hoped   that   all   the   dates   that   followed   would   be   the   same.   Signe   leaned   in   instinctively   at   his   little   shoulder   bump   and   smile.  “Okay,   fine,” she   sighed,   as   if   the   topic   was   really   taking   its   toll   on   her. “The   ambiance   was  perfect,   the   company   was   disarmingly   charming,   and   the   date   surpassed   all   expectations.” A   beat   where   she   cast   a   sideways   glance   at   him. “But   I   do   retain   the   right   to   edit   my   review   for   at   least   24   hours   after   the   date   is   done.”   She   gave   his   hand   a   squeeze   as   they   made   it   to   her   front   door,   and   then   looked   at   him   from   under   her   lashes. “Because   everyone   knows—it’s   all   in   the   way   the   night   ends   that   really   seals   the   five-star   rating.”

Charlie huffed a breath of a laugh, the kind that buzzed low in his chest and softened something in his expression as he looked at her. "Oh, I’m sayin’ it, alright. Loud and clear. You affect me, Signe Holström." He shook his head, thumb tracing small, unconscious circles through the fabric of her dress. "I’m holdin’ it together out here, but inside?" He let out a dramatic sigh, leaning in like he was telling a secret. "Total emotional devastation. I'm a goner. Done for. It’s a miracle I’m still standin’, really."

He smiled crookedly when she called him out, that spark of playful challenge catching in his eyes. “Perfect?” he echoed, shaking his head. “Nah, love. I ain't perfect at all. I’ve got flaws stacked higher than my wine rack. But I’m tryin’, swear down.. And that’s gotta count for somethin’, right?” The sound of her giggles as he scooped her up made his grin stretch wider, cheek pressed to her temple for a second, "Oi! I may not have been selfie-ready, but don’t think for a second I haven’t got our next few dates locked and loaded. I got it all planned out, Signe." He spoke, voice low, just for them, "Dinner. Movie. Me teachin’ you how not to burn garlic. You causin’ chaos in my kitchen."

Her whispered 'Yes, Chef' had his breath catching, low and rough like it had been punched right from his lungs. He murmured, shaking his head, eyes dark as they settled on hers, "You-.. are trouble, innit? You’re doin’ that on purpose.. Really tryin' to make me come undone here, ain't ya?" He smirked, "Whatever you want.. but that's for next time."

He reined himself in, the heat in his chest grounding as he looked around at the quieting party. Families packing up, the fire pit flickering low. Charlie dipped to press a kiss to the tip of her nose, the gesture far too gentle for someone who had just been threatening to fall apart entirely. "C'mon, love. Let's get you home before the chill sets in." As she helped him pack up their things, Charlie grabbed the last semla like a prize, handing it to her and then reached for her other hand as they walked along the sand. Fingers laced, warm and sure.

"You enjoy yourself tonight?" Charlie glanced over with a grin, bumping her shoulder with his. "Because now’s the part where I conduct your post-date interview. Very official stuff, you know. For quality assurance purposes... don't deny the people what they deserve, Signe."

Signe   didn’t   consider   herself   extremely   bold   or   wild   by   nature,   but   there   was   something   about   the   way   Charlie   responded   to   her   teasing   that   just   lit   her   up   from   the   inside   out.   Thoroughly   pleased   to   have   affected   him   with   just   her   words,   Signe   had   settled   into   the   sofa,   waiting   expectantly.   He   asked   about   the not-so-mild   playlist   and   she   smirked   to   herself.  “I’ll   see   what   I   can   do   for   you.”   The   food   smelled   absolutely   intoxicating   and   she   found   she   was   growing   more   and   more   excited   to   try   his   food.   Of   course,   he’d   prepared   semla   for   her   on   their   first   date,   but   dessert   was   very   different   to   an   actual   meal.   She   watched   as   Charlie   carried   their   plates   over,   her   eyes   lingered   on   the   tattoos   of   his   arm   before   focusing   on   the   meal   and   enticing   scent   wafting   around   then.   “It   smells  divine.”  Signe   offered   him   a   playful   smile   as   she   accepted   the   plate,   leaning   into   the   kiss   he   pressed   to   the   top   of   her   head.  “Since   you   listed   yourself,   does   that   mean   you’re   on   the   menu   too?”  she   asked,   cheekily.   She   giggled   as   he   came   to   sit   beside   her,   thighs   pressing   together   and   she   hummed,   pleased   at   the   closeness.   She   was   about   to   dig   into   her   plate   when   Charlie   took   the   plate   back.   She   barely   had   a   chance   to   protest   when   he   cupped   her   face   and   kissed   her   senseless.   A   soft   noise   of   surprise   escaped   her   before   she   eagerly   responded   to   the   kiss,   truly   melting   into   it.   He   was  everywhere   –   his   taste   on   her   lips,   his   touch   on   her   cheek   –   and   then   he   had   the   nerve   to   pull   away   like   he   hadn’t   just   set   her   entire   nervous   system   on   fire.   Signe   barely   registered   the   movie   title   that   blinked   on   the   screen   as   she   let   out   a   slow,   stunned   breath   trying   to   calm   her   heart   galloping   in   her   rib   cage.  “Now   we   can   eat?”  she   echoed,   incredulous.   She   turned   toward   Charlie   with   narrowed   eyes,   playful   yet   dangerous.  “Because   …   what?   That   was   the   appetizer?”  Signe   reached   for   her   plate   once   more,   steadying   herself   with   a   rather   large   gulp   of   wine.  “I’ll   get   you   back   for   that.   I   thought   you   said   no   more   teasing.”   She   smirked   at   him   before   taking   a   bite   of   the   salmon   on   her   plate   and   then   groaned   in   satisfaction.   “Oh,   that   is  fantastic,”  Signe   said,   covering   her   mouth   to   finish   chewing   before   focusing   on   Charlie.  “You  made   that.”   Her   eyes   were   wide   with   wonder   at   his   ability   to   bring   together   ingredients   in   a   way   that   complimented   each   other   so   well.  “You   really are   good   at   this,   aren’t   you?”

Charlie’s laugh echoed from the kitchen, warm and full-bodied, the kind that spilled out with no filter. Deep, surprised, and slightly unsteady. He stood there with a ridiculous grin, plating their food like it was a Michelin tasting, even though all he really wanted was to abandon the counter, cross to the other room, and kiss her until he forgot what restraint tasted like. He finished up the salmon and vegetables, trying to focus on not burning his fingertips or slapping down the garnish too aggressively, but it wasn’t easy. Not after that voice from the living room, all cool and tempting and laced with just enough heat to short-circuit his self-control. He shook his head, biting down on his bottom lip as he tried to refocus. "You’re tryin’ to corrupt me, love," he called back, the words slightly breathless. "That was the mild playlist? Christ." He paused, smiling as he laid down the last bit of glazed salmon with practiced precision. The smell was incredible, citrus and spice and garlic and that slight sweetness from the honey, but all he could really think about was the way her voice had wrapped around those words like a dare. Discipline, Hughes. She deserves dinner. "I’m also gonna need a link to that one. For scientific purposes."

Once everything was set, he wiped his hands and took a quiet second to breathe. Then he grabbed both plates and made his way back toward the living room, shoulders relaxed, steps easy, but eyes locked on her. He walked in, sleeves still rolled with tattoos peeking out from under, carrying their plates carefully in each hand. The way she was curled into his sofa, waiting for him not just politely, but eagerly, sent something twisting in his chest. "Alright, alright, no more teasin’," he said, presenting the plates with all the air of a man delivering a masterpiece. "Spiced glazed salmon, garlicky roasted veg, and a chef trying very hard not to get distracted by the fact that you’re actively ruining him."

He handed her the plate like it was sacred, balanced and perfect, even adding a soft "Enjoy" under his breath. He bent to press a kiss to the top of her head, one hand lingering briefly on her shoulder as if to ground himself. Then he circled around, setting his own plate down before sinking into the couch beside her, closer than before. Their thighs touched, and he didn’t bother pretending it was accidental. He picked up his own plate, but only for a moment. Then, in a sudden, quiet decision, he set it back down. He turned to her, gaze steady and lips tugged into a smile just shy of smirking. "Actually," he said, reaching gently to take her plate from her hands, catching her gaze with something more heated now. Something inevitable. Before she could respond, he gently set it down on the coffee table without ever breaking eye contact. Then he leaned in, swift and sure, cupping her face with both hands as he kissed her. Properly. No teasing. No testing. Just all of it. Want, gratitude, affection, need. Like he’d held back long enough and decided, finally, to let it land. He hummed into the kiss, his thumb brushing lightly across her cheek, savoring the way she responded. It took effort, actual, physical effort, to pull away. When he did, he rested his forehead against hers for a beat, catching his breath, smiling like he’d just won something he hadn’t realized he was competing for. "Right," he said, voice low and a little hoarse. "Now we can eat." Charlie leaned back, lips tucked in, still biting down a grin as he reached for the remote. He hit play, finally, but he didn’t move away. His thigh stayed resting on hers, plate now in his lap, ready to experience her favorite movie, and whatever else this night would bring.

A   small   smile   ghosted   across   her   lips   at   the   mental   image   he   painted.   “That   could   be   fun,”   she   said   with   a   slight   nod.   Her   fingers   fiddled   with   the   hem   of   her   sleeve   as   she   continued,   daring   to   playfully   tease   him.  “Football   fashion   disasters?   No   promises   I   won’t   laugh,   but   I   will   try   to   be   gentle.”   His   question   about   her   accent   surprised   her,   her   eyebrows   raising   slightly   as   his   guess   landed   rather   close.  “Good   ear!   I’m   Swedish   –   I   was   born   in   Malmö, just across the bridge  to   Denmark.”   No   matter   how   long   it   had   been   since   she’d   lived   in   that   beautiful   coastal   city,   it   would   always   be   home   in   her   heart.   The   place   where   her   parents’   love   story   truly   began.  “We   moved   here   when   I   was   fourteen.   Palmview   was…an   adjustment.”   She   let   out   a   short,   abrupt   laugh   –   almost   as   if   the   sound   escaped   her   before   she   could   fight   it.  “Well,   I   understand   you   just   fine.   No   subtitles   needed…yet   anyway.”   He   fell   into   step   beside   her,   and   his   nearness   was   noticeable   but   not   unwelcome.   Signe’s   gaze   dropped   for   a   moment   before   drifting   back   to   the   art   along   the   hall.   Her   hands   were   loosely   folded   in   front   of   her   as   they   walked.     “Fashion,”   she   echoed   with   a   nod.  “I   want   to…I   mean,   I think   I’d   like   to   have   my   own   line   one   day.   My   interests   are   all   over   the   place,   but   I   just   want   to   make   clothes   that   make   people   feel…warm–”  she   stopped   and   glanced   back   at   Charlie.   “I   mean,   not literally.   I   don’t   want   to   make   people   overheat,   I   just..  My   style   is   more   nostalgic,   like   a   happy   memory.”  Signe   felt   her   cheeks   heat,   and   her   words   slowed,   as   if   she   was   measuring   each   one.  “It   probably   sounds   silly.   But,   what   about   you?   Why   cooking?”

Charlie's eyes scanned Signe's face as she spoke about her fashion design. He nodded slowly along with her words, "No pressure. You don't have to show me." Charlie could almost see the way she'd changed her mind, "Well, I'd love that when you decide you're comfortable. I can show ya the things I used to wear as a footballer.. Maybe I'll make ya dinner and you can laugh at my poor fashion choices and I'll get tips from your mood boards" A laugh slipped easily from his lips, "Fashion at the time-.. No judgements, swear down. It was bad."

His eyebrows had scrunched together in curiosity, "Mind me askin' where you're from? I can hear the Scandinavian there, but can't place it." He shoved his hands into his pockets, his blue eyes locked on her. "Thanks for not judgin'. I've had people say I need subtitles." He joked playfully with a shake of his head.

Waiting for her response to his offer, Charlie shifted on his feet. He glanced back over at the painting they'd originally been looking over when she'd answered. She spoke so softly, he'd had to turn back and read her face to ensure she'd said yes. "Well.. Shall we?"

He'd taken a small step back to end up beside her, his hand hovering behind her back to begin their stroll. "So fashion, yeah?" His eyes scanned all the art around them as they walked together, "You got plans to have your own line? What's your dream?"

Her   shoulders   lifted   in   quiet   laughter,   amused   by   the   other’s   confession.  “Well,   personally,   I   think   art’s   meant   to   be felt   more   than   understood,”  she   offered   gently.  “But   I   know   others   have very   strong   opinions   on   the   matter.”  Her   voice   was   all   but   a   whisper,   glancing   around   making   sure  she   didn’t   make   the   same   mistake   of   offending   one   of   the   artists.   Signe   followed   the   stranger’s   gaze,   glancing   back   to   see   that   it   didn’t   resonate   with   her   either.   “Nothing   with   this   one   either?”   Signe   wasn’t   the   kind   to   make   someone   feel   bad   for  ‘not   getting   it’   so   she   decided   to   steer   the   conversation   in   a   new   direction.  “Do   you   live   nearby?   I   just   moved   into   the   neighborhood   not   too   long   ago,   and   I   decided   to   go   exploring.”   After   a   brief   pause,   she   added   with   a   hesitant   smile.  “I’m   Signe,   by   the   way.”

Marcela didn't frequently spend her free time admiring the art at the Mango Bay Art District, but she had some time to kill after her shift at Retro Roots and decided to check out what local artists had put up recently since she was in the area. If nothing else, this was a step in the right direction towards her goal of being at least a little more responsible with her time this year. What trouble could she really land herself in here?

She was mindlessly wandering around, not spending too much time with any one piece of art when a voice attracted her attention. "Oh no, you're fine. I'm really walking around more than anything." She glanced around for anyone who looked like the stereotypical, pretentious artist types she imagined were responsible for the artwork here. "Between you and me, I think most of this lost on me. I'm pretty sure I accidentally insulted one of the artists the last time I was here by not seeing their vision or something." As she spoke, she shifted a little to peer around the other just to see if she was missing out on something by not viewing this particular piece. Sure enough, though, it didn't really stand out to her.

@anchorsfm

Warrior Nun Season One Episode Five

Isaiah 30:20-21

Signe   laughed   quietly,   a   bit   sheepish   as   she   observed   the   skill   with   which   the   woman   tied   off   the   knot   of   her   bracelet. “I   can definitely   tell.   You   make   it   look   so   effortless,”   she   said,   almost   wistfully.   The   bracelet   the   girl   had   made   was   bright,   clean   and   perfectly   knotted. “I’m   pretty   sure   mine   tried   to   strangle   itself   halfway   through,”   she   muttered   dryly   as   she   watched   the   woman’s   thumbs   go   to   work   on   the   tangled   mess   she   made. “I’m   great   with   a   sewing   needle,   but   apparently   string   is   where   my   creativity   draws   the   line.”

a  piece  of  thread  between  her  teeth  keeps  adhira  from  responding  right  away,  edges  of  her  lips  curving  upward  as  she  looks  over  at  the  other's  work  in  progress.  as  the  last  bead  is  threaded  onto  her  string,  she  carefully  takes  it  from  between  her  teeth,  tying  a  knot  and  then  doubling  it  before  really  assessing  the  situation  in  front  of  her.  “trust  me,  it  took  me  a  lot  of  practice  to  get  this  good,”  her  own  bracelet  slid  across  the  table  in  offering  and  traded  for  the  tangle  of  string.  thumb  nails  get  to  work  almost  immediately,  looking  for  the  end  of  the  mess  to  unravel.  “but,  don't  worry.  i'm  somewhat  of  a  magician  when  it  comes  to  jewelry  making,  you're  in  good  hands.”