chanaud
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Oct 2, 2001
- Posts
- 3,024
OOC: For Dawg!
Shrill tones echoed in the crisp cool autumn air made everybody on the crowded sidewalk to reach for their phones instantaneously. Much to their disappointment, it belonged to the only person standing in the crowded intersection intent on crossing through the morning traffic. The sharp tones paused then shrilled louder demanding a response. Finally realizing it was hers, Darcy shifted her Venti Verona to her left hand, and reached in her oversized leather bag to produce the origin of the ominous sound. She frowned at the unrecognizable number.
This better be good! She mumbled incoherently before her forefinger pressed the Call button.
“Yes.” Her exasperated tone exemplified her mood.
“Yes, this is Darcy O’Keefe.”
A clear excited voice on the other end broke her long strides causing the early morning commuters to stop abruptly and form a V around her like the parting of the Red Sea. So intent on concentrating on the phone caller, she missed the grumbling of the passerby’s.
“Are you sure? Yes, yes. I’m still interested in it. Are you sure it’s the same one? The one with the gold crest embedded in it.”
A wave of excitement shaded her tanned complexion deepening the few freckles spotted over the bridge of her nose.
“When do I have to be there? This Saturday at noon? Great. Yes, I will be there. This is terrific news. I can’t wait. And, oh, yeah, thank you. Thank you so much. I’ve been waiting for this news for a long time.”
Darcy’s lithe frame broke out into hurried long strides. Her shoulder length tresses flowed behind her like a cape past a display of painted windows marking the specialties of various local shopes. Only when the faded gold letters of Arnie’s Bakery came to view, did she slow. Arnie stood at the corner and waved. When he saw the look of determination in her eyes, his eyebrows furled into puzzlement. It was unlike Darcy to not respond. He wondered what could have come over his favorite tenant who have filled the void of years of child barren marriage.
Darcy burst through her door, and unceremoniously dumped her bags. She strode across the hardwood floor to the far room facing west. A bright warm ray shone in spotlighting the antique walnut desk that she was her destination. After opening the bottom left drawer, she pulled out what looked like a thick photo album with aged newspaper clippings and papers marked with watermarks spilling over the edges. Her nimble fingers trailed along the outer edge and opened the book at the right page.
She sat immobilized at the picture staring at her. There it was. A young woman dressed in a peasant gown, with her red curls flowing freely along her shoulders, her green eyes full of love shining brightly at the elegant gentleman standing before her, and her fingers curling around his arm in such an intimate manner.
Her hand. Her hand was what Darcy was staring at. The woman’s hand was one of years of hard service. Every callus marked the anniversary year of scrubbing floors. Every wrinkle was caused from the numerous of brass knobs she had polished for her master. What was so odd about her hand was the oversized ring on her forefinger. The ring clearly did not belong to a servant’s hand but was made more for a gentleman. The ruby ring with the gold crest is what sent electrifying tingles through Darcy each time she looked at her great grandmother’s picture.
Shrill tones echoed in the crisp cool autumn air made everybody on the crowded sidewalk to reach for their phones instantaneously. Much to their disappointment, it belonged to the only person standing in the crowded intersection intent on crossing through the morning traffic. The sharp tones paused then shrilled louder demanding a response. Finally realizing it was hers, Darcy shifted her Venti Verona to her left hand, and reached in her oversized leather bag to produce the origin of the ominous sound. She frowned at the unrecognizable number.
This better be good! She mumbled incoherently before her forefinger pressed the Call button.
“Yes.” Her exasperated tone exemplified her mood.
“Yes, this is Darcy O’Keefe.”
A clear excited voice on the other end broke her long strides causing the early morning commuters to stop abruptly and form a V around her like the parting of the Red Sea. So intent on concentrating on the phone caller, she missed the grumbling of the passerby’s.
“Are you sure? Yes, yes. I’m still interested in it. Are you sure it’s the same one? The one with the gold crest embedded in it.”
A wave of excitement shaded her tanned complexion deepening the few freckles spotted over the bridge of her nose.
“When do I have to be there? This Saturday at noon? Great. Yes, I will be there. This is terrific news. I can’t wait. And, oh, yeah, thank you. Thank you so much. I’ve been waiting for this news for a long time.”
Darcy’s lithe frame broke out into hurried long strides. Her shoulder length tresses flowed behind her like a cape past a display of painted windows marking the specialties of various local shopes. Only when the faded gold letters of Arnie’s Bakery came to view, did she slow. Arnie stood at the corner and waved. When he saw the look of determination in her eyes, his eyebrows furled into puzzlement. It was unlike Darcy to not respond. He wondered what could have come over his favorite tenant who have filled the void of years of child barren marriage.
Darcy burst through her door, and unceremoniously dumped her bags. She strode across the hardwood floor to the far room facing west. A bright warm ray shone in spotlighting the antique walnut desk that she was her destination. After opening the bottom left drawer, she pulled out what looked like a thick photo album with aged newspaper clippings and papers marked with watermarks spilling over the edges. Her nimble fingers trailed along the outer edge and opened the book at the right page.
She sat immobilized at the picture staring at her. There it was. A young woman dressed in a peasant gown, with her red curls flowing freely along her shoulders, her green eyes full of love shining brightly at the elegant gentleman standing before her, and her fingers curling around his arm in such an intimate manner.
Her hand. Her hand was what Darcy was staring at. The woman’s hand was one of years of hard service. Every callus marked the anniversary year of scrubbing floors. Every wrinkle was caused from the numerous of brass knobs she had polished for her master. What was so odd about her hand was the oversized ring on her forefinger. The ring clearly did not belong to a servant’s hand but was made more for a gentleman. The ruby ring with the gold crest is what sent electrifying tingles through Darcy each time she looked at her great grandmother’s picture.
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