The Kitten, the Witches and the Bad Wardrobe - Willow & Tara Forever

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/17
PostPosted: Sat Aug 24, 2019 4:30 pm 
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6. Sassy Eggs
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CHAPTER 4/18

WPOV

I looked up from where I was seated at Mr. Maclay’s desk when I heard the sound of crystal shattering, and realized doll-face was on the verge of an all-out crying jag.

Luckily for me, my line of work afforded me a lot of experience with bawling hysterical women.

I went to her, enveloping her in my arms. Experience had taught me that all she needed was some reassurance that we would find out the truth, whatever it might be. I’d seen it a hundred times. I’m sure she was no different. I felt her arms wrap around my waist as her sobs shuddered throughout her whole body. I patted her back in a comforting, platonic fashion.
“Don’t worry Tara-Rose,” I said, using the soft, sincere tone I reserved for times like this. “I’m here to help you, we’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go to pieces on you. I just haven’t wanted to believe that he’s gone,” she said sadly, her voice trailing off at the end. “Between the funeral arrangements and company business to attend to, I haven’t had time to grieve, or even just realize he’s really gone,” she sniffed. I pulled my handkerchief from my breast pocket and gave it to her. She took it gratefully and daintily dabbed the corners of her eyes while she stared at the floor, looking adorably embarrassed. I put a firm finger under her chin and tilter her face up, forcing her to look me in the eye.

“Don’t worry, doll. I’ve taken you on. Just like you wanted, and I won’t let you go, “ I assured and flashed a wry grin.

She flushed just a tiny bit, her cheeks coloring just enough to make her live up to her name. Her pupils dilated as her blue eyes widened. In the same instant, I realized how perfectly she fit against me, how her body molded itself to mine like a soft, warm blanket. She smelled like roses too, even though it was February for Christ’s sake. I cleared my throat and tore my gaze away from her, releasing her from my embrace, and searched the room for a place to sit down with her.

I placed my hand gently on her shoulder, leading her to the small settee near the window and nodded for her to sit down. She blotted her eyes, wiping away the make-up crap she cried off and blew her nose daintily. She crossed her ankles demurely and tucked them under the settee. Her back was rigid and never came close to touching the back of the seat.

She’s got class; a lady. This dame was waaaay out of my league.

I sat down beside her and took a notepad and pen from my breast pocket. I tilted the brim of my hat up with the tip of the pen as I flipped open the spiral notepad. At the click of the pen, I looked at her and asked my first question.

“Are you ready to begin?” I asked gently. She smiled softly and nodded.

“Have you noticed anyone new coming to the house lately? Did your father introduce you to any new acquaintances that struck you as unusual at all?” I began.

She thought for a moment, her eyes shifting upwards as she presumably racked her brain. “No one comes to mind,” she answered quietly.

“Anyone at the memorial service you didn’t recognize?” I asked carefully.

Her chin twitched ever so slightly before her shoulders squared and she gave her answer. “No,” she said firmly.

Not only classy, courageous too.

“What about the help? Any altercations with them?” I asked as I tapped my pen against the still blank notepad.

She glared at me, her eyes little slits. “The help, as you so call put it, were treated like family by my father. My father was a good man, he didn’t have to, but when we moved here, he took in Joyce and Buffy, whom was a young child at the time, after her father passed away in the war. He provided a roof over their head and food in their stomach. As for the other’s he regarded them just as kindly.”

“I didn’t mean to cause offense ma’am,” I stated sincerely as I watched the muscle in her jaw clench. “Just doing my job is all.”
She nodded her head in acceptance but her eyes remained stormy.

“Who’s Joyce?” I asked next, not remembering the name among those Tara-Rose spat off earlier.

“She was our maid and Buffy’s mother,” she replied as she finished dabbing at her eyes. “She passed away a few years ago from cancer.”

I could sense the death of Mrs. Joyce was a touchy subject and didn’t pursue further in my questioning of the staff.

“Do you mind if I pay a visit to the county club and the office? Maybe talk to a few of his friends?” I continued.

“Not at all, Red. Do what you feel is necessary,” she replied as she dabbed at her nose and stood up to pluck her purse off of the desk. Returning to her seat beside me she pulled out a silver compact and clicked it open.

“You know you don’t need that crap, right?” I asked, perplexed that she would cover up such natural beauty.

“What do you mean?” she asked as she patted her delicate cheekbone with the little puff.

“I understand it’s all a part of the job, part of the show, but I like you without all the paint. You don’t have to wear it around me,” I said, and suddenly felt like I crossed a line. She turned to look at me and gave me a genuinely grateful look that went straight to my gut.

Before she could say something, I stood and went to the desk, pushing the chair away to make sure I didn’t start the waterworks again with my insensitivity. I picked up the Gala invitation and eyed her cautiously. She only watched me intently, still sitting gracefully erect on the settee like a golden Grecian statue.

“Were you planning on going?” I asked and waved the envelope slowly in front of me.

“I was… we were, before … “she whispered but no signs of tears. “I’m not sure if I will be attending the event now unless I can somehow persuade Donald to take me. Without him escorting me, it would be inappropriate to go on my own.

“Hmm, well, we really need to crash this party. Do some people-watching, people-listening. You said he was friendly with everyone, so every Tom, Dick, and Harry along with their brother’s is a suspect.” I hesitated for a moment before getting to the meat and potatoes of the issue, “Would you mind if I escorted you?” I said casually as I rifled through the top drawer.

She paused for a moment and just stared at me deep in contemplation I presumed before finally speaking. “Not at all, Miss Rosenberg,” she said much too softly. I knew better than to look up so I kept my attention on the contents of the drawer I was rummaging through. I pulled out a check register and opened it, skimming through the pages until I came to the last few weeks of entries. There were several checks written to the staff for their pay, a payment to a roofing company for a small repair that has been done to the house, a check written out to Dr. Rupert Giles? My hand froze over the page for a brief moment before automatically reaching for my smokes and lighting one hurriedly. I took a long pull and forced myself to focus, plenty of time to mull over the implications of that later. The date on the check was two weeks ago and the memo line read “annual physical”.

“You’re father’s visit with the doctor went smoothly? Nothing was found?” I questioned.

“No. Daddy was healthy; he took care of himself like I said. He was a firm believer that his image was a reflection on the company.”

“His doctor was Dr. Giles?” I asked inquiringly, really fucking hoping it wasn’t my God Father, Dr. Rupert Neil Giles, but knowing full well it probably was.

“Yes, Dr. Rupert Giles and his wife Jennifer have been good friends of our family for the last decade or so,” she said and my heart squeezed at hearing their names spoken out loud. “Do you know them?” she asked.

“Once,” I said quickly and took another long drag of my Lucky Strike. Instead of looking up to see her reaction, I continued to pillage the drawers. Towards the back of the second drawer, I pulled out a rumpled and dirty piece of paper and plucked apart the well creased folds.

We want our money, times running out. Pay up or you’ll be taking a one way cruise down the Hudson River with a new pair of cement shoes.

“Have you seen this note before?” I said to Tara-Rose, holding it out for her to examine. She took it from me and read it quickly. As she stood next to me, I caught the scent of her roses again.

“No, never,” she said with alarm, her brow creasing in concern and confusion.

Now I’m getting somewhere.

I took the note, refolded it and put it in my breast pocket where I had taken my notepad from. “Is your brother home? I’d like to meet him,” I asked.

“I’m not sure; he might still be out, the funeral was hard on him. Follow me downstairs,” she said and turned to leave the room. The swishing hem of her skirt as she walked played seductively around her calves. My eyes traveled up to the soft curve of her hips, to her tumble of golden curls and I knew then and there it would be a miracle if I got this case solved and myself away from this Sheba intact.

At the bottom of the stairs she called to the maid, Buffy, who scurried into the hall a moment later.

“Is Donald home?” Tara-Rose questioned her.

“No he isn’t Miss Maclay. He never returned home after the funeral,” she replied, looking disappointed that she was not of more help. Tara-Rose turned to me, her blue eyes clear and devoid of any evidence of her earlier tears.

“When I see him, I will arrange a time for you to meet him. Perhaps sometime tomorrow?” she asked hopefully but didn’t give me time to answer.

“Give me your notepad,” she said taking it gently from my hand. She reached for the pen in my other hand and plucked it from my fingers. Her fingers brushed against my hand and I almost shivered. She quickly wrote something down and handed the pad back to me.

“My phone number,” she explained, “call me in the morning and I’ll tell you when to come by,” she smiled. “Buffy, will you get Miss Rosenberg her things please and call her a cab. Oh, I broke something in the study; can you please get that taken care of?” Buffy bobbed a curtsy and departed quickly.

“Red … I wanted to thank you. Not only for taking my case, but for being … understanding upstairs,” she said and took a step towards me. She gently placed her hands flatly on my chest. I stood there frozen and a little dazed as I felt her soft red lips place a lingering kiss on my cheek. She pulled away and stepped back.

I cleared my throat and nervously snatched my overcoat from Buffy as she approached with my things. I pushed my hair back out of my face as I repositioned my hat on my head before shrugging into my coat.

“Thanks, Buffy. Be a doll, won’t you, and let the other staff know I’ll be around tomorrow to ask them some questions?” I requested and grinned at her as I adjusted my coat over my shoulders.

“Yes, ma’am, anything we can do to help,” she nodded genuinely.

“Until tomorrow, Tara-Rose,” I said, taking off my hat and bowing slightly. Buffy opened the door and I turned on my heel and left. Stepping out onto the porch, I pulled my coat tighter to my body, warning off the cold gusts of wind. I looked around the property once more, taking in the perfectly quaffed lawn before resting my gaze on a large tree to the far left of the property, taking in the drooping lance-shaped branches. Shaking my head, I pulled the coat tighter to my body once more before bounding down the steps to the awaiting cab.

The cab was freezing and I turned up the collar of my coat as I gave the cabbie my address in the south side neighborhood of Harlem.

I settled into the seat and took a generous swig of bourbon from my flask. As I felt the warmth of the bourbon burn through my chest, I mapped out my plan for the case.

First, I needed to question all of the staff; the help always knew everything. I was hoping they could give me enough that I wouldn’t need to look any farther. Attending that Gala meant spending more time with the lovely Tara-Rose, and I really wanted to get out of this case in one piece. That Gala with that dame and that crowd … no way I was making it out of there unscathed. The less time I spent with Tara-Rose Maclay, the better.

Since I was never that lucky, I was going to have to visit the county club and pay some friendly calls to the friends Tara-Rose had mentioned: Vincent Astor, Richard Wilkins, and Theodore Smithe. I’d met Vincent Astor and Theodore Smithe before, under circumstances that hit much closer to their respective homes. The rich didn’t have skeletons in the closet; they usually had a whole graveyard. But who was I to talk? I had three or four coffins under my bed too.

The cab pulled up to the curb in front of my building and I paid the cabbie my fare and got out. My apartment was cold and dark once I got inside and I hurried to the old radiator to turn up the heat. As I took off my overcoat, suit jacket and hat, I snapped on the Victrola and Tommy Dorsey’s ‘In the Blue of the Evening’ filled the small room while I proceeded to empty the contents of my pockets on the desk.

I loosened my tie and pulled my gun out of the holster, placing it softly on the desk as I sat down. The guns cold blue steel shimmered as it caught the yellow lamplight and I traced the handle’s outline with my index finger. It was the gun that had started my solo career. The gun that had once belonged to my father; that he had used every day on the job before the job caught up with him. I didn’t originally want this lifestyle; neither did my pops, but I had to finish his case that left him pushing up daisies. I owed him that much, catching his killer. I was hooked after that and his gun, his trusted sidepiece, made me feel close to the old man.

Now, the possibility I had dreaded for the past two years had finally happened. I was more than likely going to have to face my God Father; the man I was justifiably upset with for providing my father the gig that ended his life, in order to do my job. I picked up my pack and gently shook a cigarette out halfway. I slowly brought the pack to my lips, wrapping them around the filter, and tried not to think about seeing the man who was inadvertently responsible for my father’s death.

Shoud’ve left New York months ago, like I wanted to, then I wouldn’t be in this jam.

The song on the radio changed, and I heard my favorite jazz singer, Billie Holiday, crooning “Stormy Weather”.

I poured myself some bourbon and took a draw from my smoke. Tara-Rose Maclay. Her chaste little peck on the cheek before I left her standing in the hall of her mansion played itself over and over again in my mind. I brought my fingers up to my face and rubbed, realizing I probably had lipstick on my cheek. For some reason I didn’t mind; not if it was her lipstick.

Tara-Rose Maclay. In one afternoon she had managed to flip everything on its head, and in turn, I couldn’t get her out of my head.

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Alyson, oh, Alyson why don´t you join my band? So you could play the flute like this one time in band camp.
I Am Forever / How I Met My Lover / Street Fighters / Paid To Get Excited / Pick My Partner / A Special Christmas of Sorts


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/24
PostPosted: Sun Aug 25, 2019 6:56 am 
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7. Teeny Tinkerbell Light

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Dibs :banana
Hum...getting to know more about Willow...interested to know how Dr. Giles figures into it. Little perplexed how Willow can accompany Tara to a gala, but I am sure I will see. Love this story. Thanks for writing.

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/24
PostPosted: Sun Aug 25, 2019 11:35 am 
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3. Flaming O
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And so the plot thickens...Daddy dearest did have enemies and the dashing detective has a few secrets of her own it would appear... Next Saturday can't come fast enough.

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/24
PostPosted: Tue Aug 27, 2019 11:31 pm 
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4. Extra Flamey

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In Willow's thoughts it sounded as if holding Tara while she cried was just "an act"...but maybe Willow just tried to convince herself of that , not wanting to admit she is "going soft"?

Quote:
“You know you don’t need that crap, right?” I asked, perplexed that she would cover up such natural beauty.

“What do you mean?” she asked as she patted her delicate cheekbone with the little puff.

“I understand it’s all a part of the job, part of the show, but I like you without all the paint. You don’t have to wear it around me,” I said, and suddenly felt like I crossed a line. She turned to look at me and gave me a genuinely grateful look that went straight to my gut.


I'm sure that was genuine-Willow talking here.

So I was partially right concerning Giles - he used to be part of Willow's circle. If he is Willow's godfather (I didn't know there are those in judaism, too) that must mean he was a very close friend of her father, I guess? I'm wondering what kind of detective job he gave him that led to him getting killed and if Willow blaming Giles for her father's death is at least partially justified.

I would love to see Willow escorting Tara to the gala wearing an elegant (rented) tux or something, but like taranwillow4ever I'm wondering how that could be considered appropriate in 1944?


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/24
PostPosted: Wed Aug 28, 2019 3:37 am 
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6. Sassy Eggs
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taranwillow4ever wrote:
Dibs :banana
Hum...getting to know more about Willow...interested to know how Dr. Giles figures into it. Little perplexed how Willow can accompany Tara to a gala, but I am sure I will see. Love this story. Thanks for writing.


You are the dibs master :bow Willow's a hard nut to crack but she does start opening up little by little throughout the story. As for Willow accompanying Tara to the Gala, I know it's a little unorthodox (especially for the era) but its needed for the investigation/how I needed to story to progress. Thanks for reading!

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Alyson, oh, Alyson why don´t you join my band? So you could play the flute like this one time in band camp.
I Am Forever / How I Met My Lover / Street Fighters / Paid To Get Excited / Pick My Partner / A Special Christmas of Sorts


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/24
PostPosted: Wed Aug 28, 2019 3:58 am 
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6. Sassy Eggs
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*WILLOW* wrote:
And so the plot thickens...Daddy dearest did have enemies and the dashing detective has a few secrets of her own it would appear... Next Saturday can't come fast enough.


Que ominous music now! :devilish What fun would that be if the lead detective didn't have some secrets of her own. :cool Glad you're enjoying the story and hopefully the next 4 days fly by for you.

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Alyson, oh, Alyson why don´t you join my band? So you could play the flute like this one time in band camp.
I Am Forever / How I Met My Lover / Street Fighters / Paid To Get Excited / Pick My Partner / A Special Christmas of Sorts


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/24
PostPosted: Wed Aug 28, 2019 4:16 am 
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6. Sassy Eggs
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Will's redemption wrote:

So I was partially right concerning Giles - he used to be part of Willow's circle. If he is Willow's godfather (I didn't know there are those in judaism, too) that must mean he was a very close friend of her father, I guess? I'm wondering what kind of detective job he gave him that led to him getting killed and if Willow blaming Giles for her father's death is at least partially justified.

I would love to see Willow escorting Tara to the gala wearing an elegant (rented) tux or something, but like taranwillow4ever I'm wondering how that could be considered appropriate in 1944?



So it's not common, but when doing some research I did find some information on 'godparents' in Judaism. The word kvater/kvaterin translates to godfather/godmother wherein the family members or friends who serve in these roles have no legal or official Jewish status but are being honored by the parents as important people in their lives. With Ira being deceased from the start, I wanted Giles to stay in that father figure role for Willow (like he was in the show) but with some strain on the relationship.

I know it's a bit far-fetched for two women to go to a gala together, especially in the 40's, but I wanted to incorporate more characters while also thickening the plot and figured the Gala would be the best way of doing that ... plus, Willow in a tux :drool

As always, thanks for reading!

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Alyson, oh, Alyson why don´t you join my band? So you could play the flute like this one time in band camp.
I Am Forever / How I Met My Lover / Street Fighters / Paid To Get Excited / Pick My Partner / A Special Christmas of Sorts


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/24
PostPosted: Fri Aug 30, 2019 4:22 am 
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2. Floating Rose
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Quote:
I brought my fingers up to my face and rubbed, realizing I probably had lipstick on my cheek. For some reason I didn’t mind; not if it was her lipstick.


Awww, we're starting to see the softer side of Detective Rosenberg. I'm loving the sexual tension between them but I can't wait until they finally admit their feelings to one another.


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/24
PostPosted: Sun Sep 01, 2019 4:38 am 
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6. Sassy Eggs
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wickedaddiction wrote:
Quote:
Awww, we're starting to see the softer side of Detective Rosenberg. I'm loving the sexual tension between them but I can't wait until they finally admit their feelings to one another.



Glad you're enjoying the sexual tension between them cause it's just gonna get steamier from here. Thanks for reading!

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Alyson, oh, Alyson why don´t you join my band? So you could play the flute like this one time in band camp.
I Am Forever / How I Met My Lover / Street Fighters / Paid To Get Excited / Pick My Partner / A Special Christmas of Sorts


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 8/24
PostPosted: Sun Sep 01, 2019 4:49 am 
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CHAPTER: 5

TPOV

Book in hand; I sat on the settee chair near the window in my father’s study. On so many occasions, I often came to this room when I needed to clear my head. The silence of the study mixed with the familiar odor of distilled liquor, my father’s cigars and his cologne, allowed me to always think through my qualms peacefully, knowing I was somewhere safe. At the moment, with my thoughts all muddled, I needed Daddy’s presence in my life. Just being there in the room that held all of his things and that once belonged to him made me feel comforted, as though I was surrounded by him even though he wasn’t physically there. My eyes were trained on my book, but I was distracted by the movement outside the door.

Shifting my cumbersome book, Gone with the Wind, to lay flat on my lap, I looked over to Buffy standing in the doorframe with her hands clasped together in front of her. I gave her a demure smile, indicating that it was okay for her to enter the study which had become my sanctuary.

“Miss Tara-Rose,” Buffy said as she stepped lightly into the room. “Detective Rosenberg just telephoned. She said that she’ll be here within the hour.”

“Thank you, Buffy.” I said as I stood up from the settee. “Did my brother return? I didn’t hear him come in yesterday.”

“Yes ma’am, Mr. Donald returned late last night. Would you like me to go fetch him?” she inquired.

“No, that’s okay Buffy,” I said as I placed the well-worn book onto my father’s desk. “I’ll go speak with him.”

She curtseyed respectfully before exiting the room, the soft click of her heels reverberating on the hardwood floor as she descended the staircase. I waited until I could no longer hear her before walking out of the study and down the hall, stopping outside of my brother’s bedroom. Knocking lightly, I gently called out to Donald, letting him know I needed to speak with him.

After several moments, the door slowly pulled open, revealing a weary Donald, clad in silk pajamas not unlike the ones I had found our father in. The light blue of his top contrasted starkly with the angry purple bruise formulating over his right eye. Gasping in shock, I instinctively reached for his face, the tips of my fingers gingerly tracing the puffy flesh.

“Donald, what happened?” I asked as he hissed in pain from the slight caress. “Who did this to you?”

“I’m okay big sister,” he replied humbly as he took hold of my hand touching his face. “Got into a bit of a tussle at the bar last night with the boys.”

“Donald, I wish you wouldn’t go to such places,” I scolded lovingly. “You’re asking for nothing but bad business there.”

“Ease up, sis.” He smirked, his boyish charm shining through. “The boys and I got a bit sauced after the funeral and got into a little rhubarb at Willy’s with some knuckleheads. No harm.”

“I’m just worried one of these days, you’re going to get into a fight with a gunsel over bupkis and I’ll be burying you too.” I couldn’t keep the hitch out of my voice. In twenty six years, I’ve been to far too many funeral’s, predominately with my family’s namesake. I couldn’t bear the thought of having to go to another one; of having to bury my baby brother. He must have read into my apprehension. Grabbing me by the shoulders, he tilted his head down to look me straight in the eyes as he spoke.

“Never,” he said strongly. Pulling me towards him, my head resting flush with his chest, he wrapped his arms around my back and squeezed me tight. “I promise, Tara, you don’t ever have to worry about me.”

I allowed him to hold me for a few moments longer, rejoicing in his comforting embrace, before pushing away. “You’re my little brother. I’ll always worry about you,” I replied genuinely, a small smile etching my lips. He returned the smile as he stepped back into his room, crossing the carpeted floor to his walk-in closet. I watched as he pulled out a crisp white button down shirt and blue sweater, a pair of tan Ivy Leaguers already lying on his unkempt bed.

“Oh, Donald, I need you to stick around for a little while,” I called out as I noticed him preparing his clothes for the day. “I hired a detective yesterday to look into Daddy’s death. Detective Rosenberg will be here shortly and wanted to talk to everyone. ”

He looked at me inquisitively, his eyebrows drawing together. “You hired a gumshoe, why? The coroner said Daddy had a heart attack.”

“I’m just finding it hard to believe,” I said honestly. “He was in excellent health. Are you not the least bit suspicious?”

“I’m not the medical professional, Tara-Rose.” Donald huffed out as he proceeded to change his clothing. “Anyways, I can’t stay. I’m late for school as it is.”

“Donald, this is important,” I rebuked.

“I’m not saying it’s not,” he cantered as he pulled his wool sweater over his head, his hands instinctively smoothing out the fabric along his torso. “Get me the Detectives number and I’ll call him when I return home.”

I smirked inwardly at Donald’s assumption that the Detective was male, having made the same mistake myself upon first speaking with Red over the phone. He was going to be in for a world of surprise when he came face to face with the beautiful Private-Eye, I know I was. Nodding my head acquiescently, knowing full well Donald couldn’t afford to miss out on another day of school, “I’ll let Detective Rosenberg know that you had to leave and to be expecting your phone call.”

“Thanks, sis,” he said as he walked toward me, bending down by the doorframe to retrieve his satchel full of school books. Abruptly, he stood up; snapping his fingers and pointed at me, “Oh, I’m having Alexander drive me and then run a few errands on my behalf. You might want to let the Detective know he won’t be around to speak with either,” Donald said as he brushed past, his tailored loafers clacking softly as he walked down the hall, the noise fading as he neared the last step. At a slower, more respectable pace, I made my way down the curvy staircase, stopping at the landing when the sight of snow caught my attention through the front window. I watched for a short while, mesmerized as small white flakes trickled from the sky to the ground, lightly dusting the dead grass. Spinning on my heel, I headed toward the kitchen in search of a cup of coffee.

As I sat at the breakfast table, occasionally taking sips of the steaming beverage in front of me, I couldn’t help but become anxious as I awaited the Detective’s arrival. My fingers strummed against the polished oak table repeatedly, the rhythm steadily increasing. The time passed in furious heartbeats and now and then stopped completely when I would hear the beep of a car horn on a distant highway. As I willed the minutes to move by faster, I couldn’t stop moving my fingers from their endless fidgeting. They skimmed the full skirt of my dress and flittered to the neckline, playing with the collar.

Looking to do something, anything to keep busy, my fingers continued along the journey. They ran to my necklace, touching each pearl that sat along the delicate strand. Trailing up further, my fingers found the pin that held my hair in place and secured it in the tightly wrapped chignon sitting at the nape of my neck. I had spent much time and effort on my appearance this morning. More so than usual. The reason as to why had my head whirling, which was also the reason why I had gone into my father’s study this morning in the first place seeking comfort.

After Red had left yesterday, I found myself sitting in my father’s office, staring blankly at the wall, missing the warmth she brought with her into the room. I don’t know why, but when I thought about the spitfire of a woman, a flush overtook my body. We hadn’t even known each other longer than five hours and our conversations had meandered toward hostile at points, yet, I already felt more of an attraction to her then I have ever felt toward anyone else. I pressed a hand to my stomach and took a deep breath, trying to calm it and myself. I was a tangle of both nerves and excitement and I could feel the energy coursing through my veins, pumping through my body with each beat of my steady heart.

It wasn’t until I heard tires crunching on gravel and Buffy’s cheerful humming alerting me to Red’s arrival did I finally gain some composure. I waited at the table, my ears strained and my eyes flittering to the open doorway. It felt like an eternity before Buffy entered the kitchen, a wry smile on her face as she informed me that Detective Rosenberg had just arrived.

I thanked her and stood up slowly, my hand wiping at my pleated skirt to press out any creases. Walking out of the kitchen, I entered the foyer to find the Detective admiring the grand staircase, a lazy smile on her face. Greedily, my eyes drank in the pleasant sight before me. Her shaggy red hair, slightly wet at the tips from the falling snow, cascaded haphazardly over her face, shielding her seafoam green eyes. Her long lean body expertly tailored in a navy blue double breasted suit, a hint of a red tie peeking out from underneath the suits matching vest. The sight of her was purely beautiful and I was enraptured. I wasn’t fast enough to come back to my senses; she caught my unabashed staring and smirked in response. “Like what you see, Tare?”

Rolling my eyes, I decided to fain innocent, although I’m sure my blush gave me away. Motioning for her to follow me, I turned on heel and walked back into the kitchen where Buffy was standing with a carafe of coffee in her hand, awaiting our return. Behind her, Liam, our in house cook, stood motionlessly with his hands crossed behind his back. I assumed Buffy had requested his presence in preparation for questioning. I once again gave her a demure smile, forever grateful for all that she does.

“Detective Rosenberg, this is our cook, Liam,” I said, introducing the two. “He has worked for us for about a year now.”

“Ma’am” Liam said in greeting as he nodded his head towards the Detective who reciprocated the action.

“I was just finishing up my coffee, Red. Why don’t you join me?” I persuaded as I reclaimed my seat at the table.

“With all due respect,” she said as she pulled out her spiral notepad and pen, “I’d like to start talking with your staff.” She gave me a pointed look as she tapped her pen against the binding of the pad.

“Of course,” I said politely as I pushed my chair backward. Gracefully, I got to my feet and locked eyes with the aloof Detective. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.” I started to walk away, nearly out of the kitchen, when I remembered something. Pivoting, my body half encased by the doorframe, I called out to the woman, “Oh, Detective Rosenberg, Alexander had to leave to bring my brother to school. Donald said he’ll give you a call when he returns home to set up a meeting and answer all of your questions.”

I couldn’t be sure, but when I turned away, I thought I heard her grumble something under her breath.

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Alyson, oh, Alyson why don´t you join my band? So you could play the flute like this one time in band camp.
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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/01
PostPosted: Sun Sep 01, 2019 7:50 pm 
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Double Dibs (read this yesterday the other place you post :) ) I continue to enjoy reading and look forward to when the scenes get steamy :blush Thanks for writing. :applause

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/01
PostPosted: Sun Sep 01, 2019 11:19 pm 
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I'm wondering if Donny told Tara the truth about his injury. Maybe Donny has gambling-debts or something like that and the note in their fathers desk
Quote:
We want our money, times running out. Pay up or you’ll be taking a one way cruise down the Hudson River with a new pair of cement shoes.

was meant for him. If so, how did it end up in that drawer? Did he ask his daddy for the money and he refused?

Quote:
I had spent much time and effort on my appearance this morning. More so than usual. The reason as to why had my head whirling, which was also the reason why I had gone into my father’s study this morning in the first place seeking comfort.

Dressed up for the detective, probably? :flirt

Quote:
Her long lean body expertly tailored in a navy blue double breasted suit, a hint of a red tie peeking out from underneath the suits matching vest. The sight of her was purely beautiful and I was enraptured. I wasn’t fast enough to come back to my senses; she caught my unabashed staring and smirked in response. “Like what you see, Tare?”

Cheeky Willow. But I suspect from the description of her attire that she went to more effort today than yesterday, too (she didn't wear a vest to the suit then, right?). Trying to impress Tara, perhaps?


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/01
PostPosted: Tue Sep 03, 2019 6:53 pm 
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Quote:
“Never,” he said strongly. Pulling me towards him, my head resting flush with his chest, he wrapped his arms around my back and squeezed me tight. “I promise, Tara, you don’t ever have to worry about me.”


Can I just say how much I'm loving Donald in this story. I dont think I've ever read a fic where he and Tara had a positive sibling relationship.

Quote:
As I willed the minutes to move by faster, I couldn’t stop moving my fingers from their endless fidgeting. They skimmed the full skirt of my dress and flittered to the neckline, playing with the collar.


Ugh, nervous fidgety Tara is so cute.

Quote:
I wasn’t fast enough to come back to my senses; she caught my unabashed staring and smirked in response. “Like what you see, Tare?”


Cocky Willow is adorable too.


More please!!!


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/01
PostPosted: Sun Sep 08, 2019 2:10 pm 
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6. Sassy Eggs
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taranwillow4ever wrote:
Double Dibs


Woot woot! :banana

Quote:
I continue to enjoy reading and look forward to when the scenes get steamy


Thanks for reading/reviewing (on both sites) I appreciate it. We're only a few short chapters away before the steaminess arrives. :grin

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/01
PostPosted: Sun Sep 08, 2019 2:20 pm 
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Will's redemption wrote:
I'm wondering if Donny told Tara the truth about his injury. Maybe Donny has gambling-debts or something like that and the note in their fathers desk was meant for him. If so, how did it end up in that drawer? Did he ask his daddy for the money and he refused?


All great questions and ponderings (that I wish I could reveal right now without ruining the story but I can't )that will hopefully be answered in time as the story progresses.

Quote:
Dressed up for the detective, probably? :flirt


She totally is. Gotta look cute for her crush.

Quote:
Cheeky Willow. But I suspect from the description of her attire that she went to more effort today than yesterday, too (she didn't wear a vest to the suit then, right?). Trying to impress Tara, perhaps?



Subconsciously, yes. Even though she's adamant about not mixing work and pleasure she's dressing to impress Miss Tara-Rose whether she realized it or not.

Thanks for reading and reviewing. Hope you enjoy the next chapter!

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Alyson, oh, Alyson why don´t you join my band? So you could play the flute like this one time in band camp.
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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/01
PostPosted: Sun Sep 08, 2019 2:27 pm 
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wickedaddiction wrote:
Can I just say how much I'm loving Donald in this story. I dont think I've ever read a fic where he and Tara had a positive sibling relationship.


I'm glad you're liking it. I wanted them to both have a healthy and loving relationship that most siblings have wherein they can lean on and support one another during this difficult time (their dads death) and any other hardships that may come.

Quote:
Ugh, nervous fidgety Tara is so cute.


That she is. But then again, she's always cute.

Quote:
Cocky Willow is adorable too.
[/quote]

Gotta appreciate a beautiful woman with confidence and swag


Thank you for reading/reviewing. Hope you enjoy the next update!

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Alyson, oh, Alyson why don´t you join my band? So you could play the flute like this one time in band camp.
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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/01
PostPosted: Sun Sep 08, 2019 3:05 pm 
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CHAPTER 6/18

WPOV

I woke up the next morning cursing Wild Turkey for the evil that it was as I propped myself slowly up on one elbow and ran my hand over my face. I’d slept in my clothes and they were rumpled and stank of bourbon, sweat, and cigarette smoke. I knew from experience that a scalding hot shower was the only thing that was going to make me feel human again. I only wished I had been coherent enough last night to take my trusted hangover preventative, two aspirin tablets and a huge glass of water. I slowly, painfully, sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed. A quick glance at the clock told me it was nearing mid-morning, nine twenty-three in the morning to be exact. I had to put a wiggle in it and get moving. I had a list of difficult things to be done, the first of which would be a trip to the Maclay house. I started peeling off my soiled clothes; my fingers, fat and uncoordinated with grogginess, fumbled with the buttons on my shirt. As I stood up to head to the john for that much needed shower, I hoped the hot water would lessen that dull, throbbing ache in my head. Today, I needed to have my wits about me, because today was to be day one in cracking this case.

The steam of the shower started to work its magic and I felt the stupor of too much bourbon begin to slowly shift. I struggled to put my thought in order. The first thing I needed to do was call the Maclay estate to let Tara know I was on my way to her house to speak with Donald. Then, I’d move on to the next matter at hand, sleuthing the rest of the household and try my damnedest to get a solid lead on this case. And lastly, track down Mr. Maclay’s closest friends. I hurried and finished up in the shower, brushed my teeth, got dressed and was out the door within twenty minutes, only stopping at my desk long enough to ring Tara.

On mornings like this, I considered coffee to be the nectar of the gods, but I didn’t want to waste time stopping for some. I wanted to get to the estate. I wanted to get this case over with, with my dignity intact. Anyways, I felt that suffering through my hangover was some small penance for being such an all-around jackass. Stepping up to the curb, my black laced shoes crunching on the slushy grey snow that had fallen at some point over night, I hailed a cab.

The traffic signal was stuck on red. I stared at it, willing it to change and drumming my fingernails in time with Lucy Ann Polk crooning on the radio, “Back in Your Own Backyard.” I was pretty sure that the cabbie was going to throw me out of the car before we even got to the Maclay estate; I was driving him bananas with my impatience. I leaned forward like an anxious child and spoke by the cabbies ear. “How much further?”

The cabbies low chortle floated through the air and he shook his head in disbelief “Ya mean since the last time ye asked me, two minutes ago?” he said, his thick Irish accent making his words hard to decipher. “Still thirty minutes.” I leaned back into my seat, the base of my skull pressed against the headrest as I stared expressionlessly upward at the smoke stained fabric of the cab. I should have stopped for that coffee, my head was pounding and my feet were freezing where the snow dampened the leather. Huffing in annoyance, I tilted my head to the side, aimlessly staring out the window.

Half an hour later, I found myself once again standing in front of Tara-Rose’s mansion. It loomed over me with cheerful menace, its bright white walls contrasting starkly against the overcast grey sky. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out some fare money and handed it over to the cabbie, thanking him for the ride as I stepped out of the vehicle. As I was about to step up onto the porch, prepared to knock, Buffy opened the door and waved me inside. I walked into the foyer and grinned sheepishly at her as I tracked in mud.

“Hi, Buffy.” I said courteously as I wiped melting snowflakes off of my coat.

“Hello, Miss Rosenberg. It’s good to see you,” she said sincerely even though it had only been a few short hours since we parted ways.

“Good to see you too,” I replied as I shuck off my overcoat for her to place in the hall closet. “Is Miss Tara-Rose here?”

“Yes, let me fetch her for you,” she said as she bobbed a curtsy, then shut the door and scurried off to the kitchen.

I took off my fedora and dropped it on the entryway table, then took a deep breath as my gaze traveled across the open foyer, admiring the vast array of artwork adorning the walls and the royal red carpet rolled out to protect the chestnut wood flooring. My attention slowly shifted to the massive curvy white staircase, admiring its craftsmanship. A smile subconsciously graced my lips as the sound of Tara-Rose’s melodic voice wafted through the air. I stood still a moment longer, appreciating how the light from the stained glass windows danced across the finely polished wood of the stairs. It wasn’t until I had the unsettling feeling that I was being watched, did I turn.

There, in the same doorway Buffy had disappeared through, now stood Tara-Rose. Her eyes were unabashedly racking over my figure. I smirked, internally happy that I had chosen my more formfitting suit today. The suit had costed me more money than I wanted to spend, but dad always said, ‘the suit makes the man’, and I had to admit, I did look rather spivvy. Brushing the hair hanging over my forehead away from my eyes, “Like what you see, Tare?”

She rolled her eyes at me in what could only be mock annoyance as a feverish blush erupted across her chest and rapidly made its way up her neck to her ears. Without a word, she motioned for me to follow her, turning on her heels and heading to the kitchen before I could speak. I waited a few seconds before I followed, allowing myself the opportunity to fully appreciate the blonde’s wardrobe as she walked away. Her solid green day dress accented with white piping hugged her in all the right places. The high, synched waist of the pleated skirt created an hourglass silhouette that had my head spinning with thoughts best not to dwell on.

I shook my head; I needed to focus on this case and not on the curves of the dreamboat in front of me. With a new resolve, I marched into the kitchen. Standing before me was a tall, dark haired gentleman with his hands firmly clasped behind his back; presumably another staff member. Next to him stood Buffy, a carafe of coffee in hand, and my new best friend as I relished in the thought of a cup of hot joe to help ease away the remainder of my headache.

“Detective Rosenberg, this is our cook, Liam,” Tara-Rose said, in introduction. “He has worked for us for about a year now.”

“Ma’am” he replied as he bowed his head slightly, his face expressionless. Returning the acknowledgement, I nodded back as I sized up the man.

He looked familiar. I’m certain I’ve run into him before but I couldn’t place my finger on as to where. His eyes narrowed at me, as if he too were trying to figure out where he’d seen me before.

“I was just finishing up my coffee, Red.” Said Tara-Rose; her voice pulling me out of my scrutinizing. Shifting my attention, I watched as Tara-Rose pulled out a chair at the table and sat down delicately. “Why don’t you join me?”

“With all due respect,” I said in my most professional tone as I pulled my spiral notepad and pen out of my jacket pocket, “I’d like to start talking with your staff.”

I needed to start my questioning as soon as possible. If Mr. Maclay’s death had been the result of foul play, the more time I wasted chatting up this skirt would result in the murderer having more time to come up with an alibi. And if I was perfectly honest, having her this close to me, her rose perfume assaulting my senses, was driving me wild with want. I needed her as far away as possible so I could do my job effectively without thoughts of running my tongue up the base of her neck, tracing the route of her blush. I shot her a pointed look, making it perfectly clear I couldn’t be persuade as I tapped the tip of my pen against the binding of the pad.

“Of course,” she had responded politely, her forced smile screaming anything but. I watched as she elegantly stood; her movement seamless. Refusing to watch her leave, not wanting to get distracted by her gams peek-a-booing out of her knee length skirt, I aimlessly flipped through my notepad, acting as if I was searching for a certain page. It wasn’t until I heard her call out to me that I stopped my page flicking and looked up.

“Oh, Red, Alexander had to leave to bring my brother to school. Donald said he’ll give you a call when he returns home to set up a meeting.”

“Typical,” I mumbled under my breath, not acknowledging Tara-Rose directly. “Just what I wanted to do tonight, wait by the phone.”

As soon as she exited the room, I shifted my eyes to Buffy’s, the pot of coffee calling to me. She must have noticed me eyeing the container; that or the slight red tint under my eyelid told her I was nursing a hangover. Either way, she wordlessly approached the table and poured me a helping of the hot beverage. “Do you need anything else?” she asked me.

“No, this will do,” I replied as I approached the table. “Please, sit, both of you.”

I waved them over, gesturing to the two chairs on the opposite side of the table. Lifting the cup of joe, I sipped the dark liquid, my eyes instinctively closing as the hot beverage hit my tongue and warmed me from the inside. I waited until they were both seated and comfortable before placing the now half empty cup back onto the saucer in front of me.

It wasn’t until he placed his arms on top of the table did I realize where I’ve seen him before. Tattooed on his right hand, in the webbing between the thumb and forefinger; five precise circles. This man had spent time in the clink. He had been collared by none other than my pops quite a few years back. Liam O’Conner, he was a torpedo for mob boss Blue Lue Boyle, and had been a pretty good one at that. In 1934, his poster had been plastered in every precinct in the five boroughs as well as on the wall in my father’s office for a solid year before he was finally pinched. I tried to keep my expression motionless, my eyebrows neutral and my eyes downcast so as not to give anything away.

Reaching for the notepad, I flipped to an empty page and proceeded to write down Liam’s name. With my head bent, I flicked my eyes upward, taking in the brooding man’s appearance once more before drawing three lines under his name. Suspect number one.

I decided to start off with an easy question “How long have you both been employed by the Maclay’s?”

“I was sixteen when Mr. Maclay took me and my mother on,” provided Buffy. “I have been working for the family for nearly a decade.”

I made some notations in my book before turning my attention to Liam. Tara-Rose had already stated his length of employment but I wanted to hear from Liam himself. “And you?”

“Ten months,” he replied, his voice low and gruff.

I jotted down his response, new questions instantly formulating in my mind. “What did you do before this?”

His mouth contorted, the edges of his lip curling upward into a snarl. My gaze never wavered from his. I kept eye contact, expecting him to lie through his teeth. “I’d spent the previous eight years in Rikers Island. I assisted on the chow line.”

I flicked my eyes toward Buffy, half expecting her to flinch or move away from the convicted felon. She never moved; showing no signs of being phased by Liam’s statement. I arched my eyebrow as I stared at her a moment longer. Pulling my gaze away, I looked down at my notepad, the page filling rapidly.

“What were you imprisoned for?” I didn’t need to lift my head; I knew by his earlier straightforwardness that he wasn’t going to lie.

“First degree assault, first degree kidnapping and second degree theft,” he said dryly, “among other things.”

I already knew what Liam had been found guilty of but I scribbled down his wrongdoings anyway; giving the pretense I was hearing this information for the first time. Notating the degree of his offenses, I inwardly steamed up.

The man, to my knowledge, had spent most of his life as a hired killer, starting his career at the tender age of fifteen. He was proficient in his killings, achieving infamy as the most sadistic gunsel in Boyle’s family. His brutality didn’t go unnoticed and he quickly rose through the ranks of Blue Lou Boyle’s coterie, earning himself the nickname “Angel of Death’. With all of his murders, neither my father nor the flatfoots were ever able to scrape together enough evidence that would hold up in the court of law. And without eyewitness testimonies, the bloke was allowed to walk free time after time.

That’s why I had never understood how a button man could muck up so badly. If he had not stolen a 1933 Singer Bantam, and carelessly left it parked outside his victim’s home on Brownstone, he would’ve never been caught by my old man. He would still be out on the streets, ruthlessly following orders from his boss, and I’d be the new Rosenberg hunting him down. It was pure dumb luck and sheer stupidity that ended up being Liam’s downfall, and even though the sentence doled out had been miniscule, I for one wasn’t going to argue as long as he was behind bars. So color me shocked when a renowned assassin was working in the kitchen of the man whose death I was hired to investigate.

I grilled the two for over an hour, shifting my questions between them. I inquired how they came about their jobs, about the fellow staff, if they noticed anyone unfamiliar hanging around the house, or if Mr. Maclay had any known enemies. I processed their answers, making notes and pondering over possibilities or motives. When I was certain I had enough information, I dismissed the two so they could get back to their responsibilities.

I was about to exit the kitchen in search of the landscaper, Riley, when I stopped in my tracks. Turning on the heel of my foot, I stared at the dark haired man, my expression rigid. “Don’t go far; I might have more questions for you.”

Entering the hall, I pulled my overcoat from the closet and shrugged it on in preparation to head outside. Pulling the coat tight around my frame, I opened the front door, grimacing at the sight of snow rapidly free falling from the sky. Walking out of the house, I hurried down the slick stairs and trudged across the lawn. Stopping outside a large shack, I banged on the door, shouting my presence.

“Riley Finn, it’s Detective Rosenberg; I need a minute of your time.”

I heard shuffling inside the building followed by the sound of metal clinking together. I waited impatiently out in the cold, snowflakes leaving a thin layer of white on my shoulders as others melted when making contact with my skin. Shivering, my cheeks burning from the blistering air, I grumbled under my breath for the second time in so many hours.

“Mr. Finn!” I shouted as I banged on the door again, the force of my closed fist rattling the wood.

Moments later, the door swung open to reveal a sheepishly smiling man. “I’m sorry about that, I was changing out of my wet clothes,” he said as he took a step back, his arm sweeping to the side as he gestured for me to step inside. “Come in, come in.”

Stepping over the threshold, my leather clad shoes crunched on hay strategically placed over the barn wood flooring by the doorframe to absorb the water from the soles of my shoes. Rotating my head from left to right, I observed the man’s sparsely furnished sleeping quarters. To the back, far left side of the cottage, a single occupancy cot rested flush with the wall, two gray quilts neatly tucked around the mattress. Adjacent to the bed, I noticed a well-worn lounger, the arms patched with mismatched fabric. Located between the two pieces of furniture was a chipped brick fireplace; a small fire blazing inside, illuminating the small cottage while filling it with warmth. To my right was a closed door, presumably leading to the bathroom. To the left of me was a small kitchenette, closely resembling that of the one in my own studio. A Murphy A46 rested on the counter; the soft harmonious tone of Joey Nash’s “Winter Wonderland” quietly penetrated the silence.

As Riley closed the door behind me, I crossed to the back of the cottage, shucking off my overcoat once I reached the fireplace. Folding my coat over my arm, I lowered myself into the fireside chair, my body sinking into the worn springs. Readjusting into a more comforting position, I pulled my notepad from my pocket as the warmth emanating from the fireplace quickly worked its way through my clothing, heating my chilled bones.

Looking up from my notes, I watched him walk towards me, noticing a slight limp in his gate. He wordlessly stood in front of his cot, his posture rigid as he gestured to me to begin my sleuthing with a nod of his head. I took in the way her stood perched in front of his cot, his legs slightly parted; hands folded behind his lower back, with his shoulders squared and pushed backwards. Just from his posture I could tell off the bat that he was former military. His face gave nothing away, his features hardened and unwavering. Even his landscaping uniform was pristine, not a wrinkle out of place or grass stain in sight.

I jumped right into the questioning, grilling Riley just as hard as I had Liam and Buffy. “How long have you worked for the Maclay’s?

“Since March 3rd, 1941.”

“What were you doing before that?” Again I knew the answer before it was said to me.

“Serving my country,” he said; pride evident in his tone.

“Why did you leave?”

“Honorably discharged,” he replied, a slight twinge of sadness creeping into his hazel eyes. Bending over, he pulled up his left pant leg, showing off a plastic prosthetic leg. “A bouncing betty took me out from the knee down.”

I pinched my lips together at his words. Not wanting to dwell on a touchy subject, I jumped right to my next question. I put the screws to Riley for another fifty minutes, his answers always precise and to the point. I respected him even more, glad I didn’t have to be bogged down fruitlessly bumping gums. Bidding my farewell, I made my way back to the estate.
Entering the main house, I stomped my feet on the rug, the movement dislodging the snow caked around my shoes. As the sound of my feet hitting the ground echoed throughout the stilled home, Tara emerged at the top of the staircase, her hands resting delicately on the banister as she looked down at me.

“I assume you still plan on attending the Gala Saturday?” she asked, her question seemingly out of nowhere. “Not to be presumptuous, but I assume you’ll not be in a dress.”

“Am I that easy to read, doll?” I asked with a smirk, a slight chuckle emerging from the back of my throat. “No, best I stay in a suit and under the disguise of a man while escorting you. Like you said, it would be inappropriate for a woman to attend the Gala without a male chaperon.”

“If that’s the case, we’ll need to find you something to wear.” She replied as she gave me the hairy eyeball. “Your suit simply won’t do.”

I looked down at my suit; half offended at the notion that she thought my clothing attire unsuitable. Cooking my eyes back up to meet her, I arched an eyebrow in silent questioning. The Gala was only a few days away and I didn’t have the time, money or want to acquire a newly tailored suit. Without saying a word, she read my mind.

“I’ll go through Donald’s closet. He must have an old tuxedo or two that he’s outgrown.”

I nodded my head in silent acceptance. A deafening silence began to loom around us as we awkwardly stared at one another. From where I stood by the front door, the low call of a mourning dove from the weeping willow in the corner of the yard lingered in the air. Its sweet coo-oo-oo called my attention to that direction and I watched the bird through the window flutter its wings and hop to the ground from one of the tree’s branches in search of food. A car glided down the street and the bird startled, taking flight as the car drew closer. Squinting into the suns low rays, I raised a hand to shade my eyes, as I watched the car drive closer, realizing Tara-Rose must have called me a cab while I was speaking with Riley. As the taxi cab came to a stop outside of the house, the driver stepping out to open the back passenger door, I turned to the blonde still standing at the top of the staircase.

“My ride’s here.” I exclaimed pointlessly.

“Be safe getting home,” she called out, her tone of voice sincere. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Red. Have a good night.”

Sighing deeply, my eyes shutting momentarily, “Willow.”

“Come again?” she said softly, her brows knitted together in confusion.

This is it, kid.

“Willow ...” I replied simply, with a soft shrug of my shoulders. “That’s my name.” As I reveled to her my surname, I watched a radiant smile envelope her lips, her pearly white teeth gleaming almost as brightly as her sapphire eyes. Opening the front door with my left hand, I reached my right hand up to my fedora, tilting the brim in her direction before making my exit.

Stepping back out into the elements, I briskly made my way to the waiting cab and scooted inside. Slamming the door shut behind me, the cabbie reloaded himself behind the wheel, his head cocking over his shoulder, “Where to?”

I provided him with my address and then settled back into the seat, preparing myself for the long ride home. As the car started to move, taking me farther and farther away from the Maclay estate, I couldn’t help but think about that dame, and the way she had looked at me, and how I wanted to see her again, close, without a silly staircase between us.

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/08
PostPosted: Sun Sep 08, 2019 4:18 pm 
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Double Dibs. :bigwave I continue to love this story. Looking forward to continued flirting.

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/08
PostPosted: Mon Sep 09, 2019 11:03 pm 
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Great idea to give Liam a real-life aquivalent to the evil vampire-past life. As I'm sure you wouldn't be so obvious to have Tara's father poisoned by his cook who is an assassin, I assume that something happened to Liam in prison that caused him to try to be a "better man" now. Buffy obviously knows about his time in prison and the crimes he was convicted for, I'm wondering if Tara does and her father did too and if they also know those crimes were just "the tip of the iceberg"?

Quote:
“Be safe getting home,” she called out, her tone of voice sincere. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Red. Have a good night.”

Sighing deeply, my eyes shutting momentarily, “Willow.”

“Come again?” she said softly, her brows knitted together in confusion.

This is it, kid.

“Willow ...” I replied simply, with a soft shrug of my shoulders. “That’s my name.” As I reveled to her my surname, I watched a radiant smile envelope her lips, her pearly white teeth gleaming almost as brightly as her sapphire eyes. Opening the front door with my left hand, I reached my right hand up to my fedora, tilting the brim in her direction before making my exit.


I'm pretty sure that Willow never gives her real name to mere clients, so yay for admitting to herself (and hinting to Tara) that she wants more than the professional-client-relationship. Tara's happiness about this gesture is so sweet. They both have got it bad for each other already, haven't they?

I'm looking forward to the gala and hoping that they will deepen their relationship afterwards… :wtkiss


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/08
PostPosted: Thu Sep 12, 2019 8:53 pm 
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I'm really loving this story. The backstory you gave for Liam was brilliant, it paralleled with Angelus' perfectly. And poor Riley, I was never a big fan of his but I felt so sad for him here.

Quote:
“Honorably discharged,” he replied, a slight twinge of sadness creeping into his hazel eyes. Bending over, he pulled up his left pant leg, showing off a plastic prosthetic leg. “A bouncing betty took me out from the knee down.”


Quote:
“Willow ...” I replied simply, with a soft shrug of my shoulders. “That’s my name.” As I reveled to her my surname, I watched a radiant smile envelope her lips, her pearly white teeth gleaming almost as brightly as her sapphire eyes.


Aww, they both got it bad for each other. Now to wait for the Gala and formal wear and hopefully some :wtkiss


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/08
PostPosted: Mon Sep 16, 2019 1:30 pm 
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taranwillow4ever wrote:
Double Dibs. :bigwave I continue to love this story. Looking forward to continued flirting.



Thanks for reading/reviewing. Glad you're liking the story

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/08
PostPosted: Mon Sep 16, 2019 1:40 pm 
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Will's redemption wrote:
Great idea to give Liam a real-life aquivalent to the evil vampire-past life.


Thank you. I tried making it parallel to canon, so I'm glad it came across well.

Quote:
As I'm sure you wouldn't be so obvious to have Tara's father poisoned by his cook who is an assassin, I assume that something happened to Liam in prison that caused him to try to be a "better man" now.


Back in the 20s-40s there was a three strike rule when it came to criminals. If they were convicted of a felony for the third time they automatically got a life sentences ... Liam's trying really hard not to go back to prison, therefore trying to better himself.[/quote]

Quote:
Buffy obviously knows about his time in prison and the crimes he was convicted for, I'm wondering if Tara does and her father did too and if they also know those crimes were just "the tip of the iceberg"?


Mr. Maclay was all about giving second chances


Quote:
I'm pretty sure that Willow never gives her real name to mere clients, so yay for admitting to herself (and hinting to Tara) that she wants more than the professional-client-relationship. Tara's happiness about this gesture is so sweet. They both have got it bad for each other already, haven't they?


She's all business when it comes to work/clients but there's just something about Tara that makes her want to be less than professional. :wink

Quote:
I'm looking forward to the gala and hoping that they will deepen their relationship afterwards… :wtkiss


We are getting closer to the gala! Just another three chapters.

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/08
PostPosted: Mon Sep 16, 2019 1:45 pm 
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wickedaddiction wrote:
I'm really loving this story. The backstory you gave for Liam was brilliant, it paralleled with Angelus' perfectly. And poor Riley, I was never a big fan of his but I felt so sad for him here.


I'm thrilled that you are enjoying the story .... and Liam'Riley's back story too! I wanted it to be as realistic to the era as possible, so wanted to incorporate the war just a little ... unfortunately, that meant poor Riley was a casualty of said war.

Quote:
Aww, they both got it bad for each other. Now to wait for the Gala and formal wear and hopefully some :wtkiss


We're so close to the Gala and formal wear .... and maybe some :wtkiss

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/08
PostPosted: Mon Sep 16, 2019 1:52 pm 
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CHAPTER 7/18
TPOV


A large clap of thunder startled me from my sleep as my bed shook from the violent aftermath. As random spurts of lightening illuminated my room, my pupils began to dilate, slowly adjusting to the darkness. I had never been a fan of storms ever since I was a small child. The wailing sound of the wind coupled with the venomous booms of thunder always provoked fear into my heart.

As the storm continued to thrash outside my window, I stared at the ceiling fan above my bed for several long minutes, watching brilliant shocks of white dance across the blades as my mind drifted to thoughts of Willow, wondering if she despised thunderstorms as much as I did. As another thunderous boom rattled my living courters, I pulled the comforter up and over my head, flipping to my left side as I flopped down on my pillow.

My fingers flexed under the blanket, repeatedly gripping and releasing the sheets as I stared blankly into the darkness; my mind wheeling between thoughts of the storm and of Willow. It wasn’t until I felt a slight pain in my jaw did I realize that my teeth were chattering like a wheel-barrel collecting rain. I tried to calm my frazzled nerve by listening to the muted hum of the fan, the short metal chain clicking in time against the plastic with each rotation, creating a rhythmic beat. As the noise of the fan blurred together with the sound of rain pinging against the windowpane, I tried to force myself back to sleep but it was futile.

As another loud crack and bright flash of light roared through the sky, I squeezed my eyes tightly shut as I tried to imagine pleasant thoughts, a trick my father once taught me when I was six and had snuck into his room one night during a particularly horrendous storm. It took several seconds of deep breathing before I was able to conjure up happy images that would ease my anxiousness: my mother singing me to sleep, my father taking Donald and I to Coney Island, my childhood cat, Trixie. It wasn’t long before my thoughts crept back to Willow, her beautiful face consuming my mind and distracting me from the storm raging outside of my window.

My heart began to flutter for a whole new reason as I thought back to the previous evening and of Willow standing in the foyer, her doe eyes staring up at me from under her fedora as she told me her name. My eyes transfixed the whole entire time on the hairpin curve of her lips. Her smile had sent my mind into an uncontrolled, captivated spiral; it branded my soul with a simple mark: infatuation.

I had worn a silly smile after she left; my infectious grin not going unnoticed by all who passed me. When it had been time to sit down for supper, Donald questioned me on my good mood, noting that I seemed significantly happier than I had been earlier that morning. I had played it off, informing him that Detective Rosenberg was making leeway on the case and that I was simply happy with the outcome so far. I didn’t elaborate any further, nor did I need to as this seemed to have appeased him. We ate the rest of our meal in relative silence, occasionally speaking only to ask how the others day was going.

Once dinner was over, Donald informed me he was leaving for the evening to meet up with some friends for a round of rugby. After seeing him out, I excused myself to my room, claiming tiredness as I bid the staff goodnight. It wasn’t until I was safely behind closed doors did I allowed my smile to reappear as images of the beautiful detective ran through my head unhindered. Her cheeky grin and vibrant green eyes causing my body to swoon.

Once I made it to the privacy of my room, I pressed my hands to my stomach and took a deep breath in an attempt to try and calm myself as I leaned back against my bedroom door. I was a tangle of both nerves and excitement and I could feel the energy coursing through my veins, through my body with each beat of my steady heart. It had been nearly four hours since Willow departed and I was starting to feel the pain in my cheeks from smiling so hard. This shielded, seemingly tough as nail cop, bestowed upon me the sweetest of gifts; her name.

Willow.

Her name was as beautiful as she was. I couldn’t help but to repeat it over and over again, to myself and out loud. I loved the way it sounded; her name rolling off my tongue like a marble rolling around the floor as it reverberated like a melody in my ear. The way the syllables of her name formed on my tongue tasted like sweet lemonade on a hot, sunny day, quenching a thirst I didn’t even know I had. It was like nothing could be better than her name. It was so unique, and I had never heard of a name like hers, a name like Willow. Each time I uttered it, my voice became raspier as it passed my vocal cords, sending shivers dancing up my spine. I couldn’t get the detective out of my head, she was beautiful, and her name was a piece of art.

For hours afterwards, I had laid in bed motionless, staring at the shadows dancing across my ceiling as the moon shifted through the sky; my thoughts on nothing else but her. As my body grew weary, I desperately tried to fall asleep, but images of her grinning face emerged behind closed eyes, spurring on new thoughts and fantasies. The last thing I recall before sleep finally overtook me was sighing deeply as I tried to cast the images aside, reprimanding myself for my childish behavior.

Now, hours later, in the crest of daybreak, her beautiful face was still all that filled my mind as I hid under my comforter, waiting for what felt like an eternity for the thunderstorm to pass. Once the steady downpour of water fizzled out to a slow humdrum beat against the window, I pulled the comforter down, cool air nipping at my exposed flesh. It wasn’t until I took a deep breath in, smelling the sweet scent of vanilla and cinnamon that had wafted up the staircase from the kitchen, filling the air of the house, did I begrudgingly pull myself completely out of bed.

It’s too early to be awake.

Blearily, I walked across the plush carpet to my vanity, pulling my sleepjacket off the back of the chair. As I slipped my arms through the sleeves of the garment, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. My hand went to my head instantaneously, my fingers pulling on my hair as they wove through. I sighed and ran my fingers downward, brushing over my puffy eyelids. I looked ghastly. My lack of sleep and constant tossing and turning had left me in an utter state of disheveled.

Normally, I would have been in a rush to comb out the matted mess; the thought of someone stopping by unannounced and seeing me without my face made always had me in a state of worry. But after a night of fitful sleep, just the thought of spending hours making myself presentable seemed exhausting and I was already truly tired. Forgoing my normal routine primping and fussing over my long locks, I decided to pull my hair up on top of my head in a halfhearted attempt to make myself semi presentable before leaving my living quarters. With one last look in the mirror, intent on coming back later to doll up, I left my room, heading directly to the formal living room to warm my chilled body by the fire.

I reached the first floor landing moments later and found Buffy in the lounge; the fireplace already roaring with several burning logs. She was standing in front of the large picture window to the left of the room that overlooked the lawn and gardens, her back to the doorway where I stood. The early morning sunlight fell in bright beams through the window, making her golden hair, piled delicately on her head, shimmer like spun sugar. She had her arms crossed over her chest, hugging herself as she gazed absently into the courtyard, and my feet started toward her.

Quietly, I called out to her so as not to startle her with my presence, but even my mere whisper seemed to have surprised her. Spinning around, her eyes wide in fright, she glanced me over before smiling sheepishly.

“Thunderstorm kept you awake too?” I ventured as I took in her seemingly similar state of appearance. She had bags under her eye and her facial expression was cadaver-like, not just sagged but lacking its usual liveliness completely, as if she had left her spirit snuggling under the duvet.

She nodded her head once before ever so slowly turning back to the window. The faraway look that had glazed over her eyes was no longer present. In its wake was quiet contemplation. She stood like that for a moment longer, her eyelids drooped and there was a slight lolling to her head, drunk with fatigue.

“It’s starting to snow again,” she finally said, her eyes fixated on the white powder gracing the driveway. Turning back toward me, her arms unclasping as a small smile graced her lips, “I’m going to go fix some coffee. I’ll have Liam start breakfast and come retrieve you when it’s ready.”

Before I had a chance to speak, she was gone. I stared through the doorway at her retreating form until she was out of sight before making myself comfortable on the chase in front of the fireplace. The couch was a fabric the hue of buoyant sea waves and I sat there as prim as any sailing boat on a fine day as I basked in the warmth of the room. Upon those rolling cushions the early morning birdsong outside the window became my lullaby, the gentle cooing luring me back toward sleep. I’m not sure how long I rested there, the fire warming my chilled bones as sweet daydreams blossomed like a spring flower, my brain weaving reality and an array of fantasies.

I was stirred from my light sleep by the sound of a car door slamming. I heard Willow before I saw her, her voice echoing through the foyer as she spoke with Buffy, asking how her morning was going. I listened intently as two pairs of shoes clicked against the hardwood floor, the sound increasing in intensity as they neared the living room, echoing off the vaulted ceilings, followed quickly by the sound of Buffy’s voice announcing Willow’s presence. Automatically, my eyelids tried to flutter open but were met with resistance. As I fought against the lure of the sandman, I peered through slitted eyes, taking in her appearance; a tan pin striped suit accentuated with a black rimmed fedora. I couldn’t help but smile. She was stunning. I couldn’t deny it; I was attracted to her with the kind of heady trance that brings a butterfly to nectar.

She smiles back at me and I feel my heart seism, the sudden rush of blood pounding through my ears so deafening that I barely make out an apology. “I’m sorry for my earliness; I hope I’m not disturbing you,” she said apologetically as she stepped further into the room, “I can come back a little later if I am.”

“Nonsense,” I replied quickly before gesturing to the couch adjacent to me. “Come sit with me by the fire.”

Shockingly, she complies without a word of rebuttal. As she ungraciously sits down on the settee, a comfortable silence washes over us, the popping of sap on the logs in the fireplace filling the air. Content in my surroundings, I feel the lure of sleep pulling at me once more and I shift my position on the chase, adjusting my sleep attire around my legs as I settle comfortably into the cushions.

“Tara-Rose, I was planning on going to La Beau today to speak with your employees. Is there anyone in particular you can think of that I should speak with? Anyone who might be able to help with the investigation.”

Languidly, I turned my neck to look at her, fighting with my eyelids once more to remain open. Sheepishly, I give her an apologetic smile. I was near sleep when she spoke, her low voice startling me slightly.

“You should speak with our foreman, Ethan Rayne,” I replied as I absentmindedly fiddled with the fabric of my nightgown. “He’s been with us since my father first started the company and knows everything that goes on inside the factory.”

“Is he in charge of all the workers?” she asked, her head tilting to the side slightly, reminding me of our neighbors Cocker Spaniel.

“Just the assembly line,” I inform her as I rotate my body, swinging my legs graciously to the floor. “My father and I oversaw sales and the marketing team.” It wasn’t until then that I remembered my current state of undress and lack of makeup, a flush of embarrassment coursing through me.

Standing, I pick up my sleepjacket that I had discarded across the arm of the settee and slip it back on. Hastily, I tie the sash around my waist in an attempt to protect what little modesty I had left before walking toward the buffet table. Pulling open one of the drawers, I pushed aside several candles in search of a spare key I had stowed away. Locating the key, I shut the drawer and walk back toward Willow who had a look of curiosity on her pensive face.

Sitting down on the unoccupied cushion next to her, brazenly, I reach for her hand nearest me. As my fingers come in contact with her silken smooth flesh, I slowly rotate our hands so that her palm is position upward. “So you can come and go from the factory as you please,” I explain as I place the key into her palm and close our interlinked fingers around it.

I only meant to give her the key, but as soon as my hand clasped hers, all my willpower to let her go washed away. Her touch was electrifying, sending a jolt up my arm, straight to my heart. I felt shameful for prolonging the contact – it was a tease and I knew it. Detective Rosenberg just smiled, seeming not to notice my predicament or in the very least, acting as if she didn’t.

“Willow,” her name rips from my mouth like an orchard going bloom. My lips pull up into a smile as I recalled the previous evening and how I came to know it. Delicately, I trace my thumb in small circles on the back of her hand, my voice low “I didn’t think I would ever learn your real name.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever tell you,” she replied after a moment’s hesitation, her eyes never wavering from mine.

I feel my breathing deepening as I maintain gazing into her tantalizingly green eyes, my tone throaty, “why did you then?”

“I guess I got tired,” she replied back quickly, her own voice lowering in depth to match mine.

I feel a fluttering in my chest, the sensation odd but inviting. “Tired of what?” I whisper out brazenly as I shift my gaze to her lap where our hands lay clasped together.

I feel the cushion under us shift and my throat constricts on a lungful of air as I feel her cotton clad knee brush against my bare skin. The fluttering turns to a pounding as I’m suddenly overrun with an even stronger desire to touch her. I bite my bottom lip and look up at her through half lidded eyes as I think of how easy it would be to slide my hand off of hers and grasp her thigh. I’m pulled from my musing at the sound of her voice; shallow and uncertain.

“Hiding,” she simply replied. The light was dim in the room but I still saw her blush. It was endearing, her eyes were wide, cheeks red, and lips were parted. She cleared her throat to regain her composure, a wasted effort, and then softly smiled at me.

Keeping our knees in contact, I pivot at the waist as I lean toward her, aching to get closer. “You don’t ever have to hide from me,” I reply sensually as my lips graze a trail across her jaw, stopping millimeters away from her ear, “Willow.”

As her name left my lips, I feel her shudder more than see it; our entwined hands vibrating. Slowly, I pull my lips away from her ear, turning my head ever so slightly as I prepare to say her name again. Before I can gather the syllables on my tongue to formulate her name, a loud rapping on the doorframe engulfed the desolate air around us, snapping me back to reality.

Springing backward, I release Willow’s hand as a furious blush erupted from under my sleep attire. Embarrassed, I refuse to make eye contact with the newcomer, instead focusing my attention on the crackling wood inside the fireplace, entranced by the sparks.

“Miss. Tara-Rose, breakfast is ready.” I grimace when I hear Buffy’s chipper voice. I don’t have to look at her to know she’s smiling. I just groan further, my hand rising to cover my mouth as she asks Willow if she’ll be staying in a way that left little to the imagination. “Detective, will you be eating with Miss. Tara-Rose?

I feel Willow looking at me but I can’t bring myself to make eye contact. Mortified by my actions, I retain focus on the fire’s flickering embers. It’s not long before the cushion shifts under our weight once more and I hear the distinct sounds of Willow getting to her feet.

“No, I don’t think I will be,” she said politely. “But if Donald’s here, I’d like to speak with him.”

“I’m afraid to inform you that Mr. Donald left shortly before your arrival to go see his doctor.”

Fear washed over my body instantly. “Doctor?” I ask panic-stricken, my attention pulled from the fireplace to stare questioningly at Buffy. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine Miss. Tara-Rose.” She reassured quickly, her comforting smile putting me at ease slightly. “The poor boy broke a few fingers playing rugby. I phoned Dr. Giles last night. He wanted Mr. Donald to come to his office first thing in the morning to be splinted.”

I am relieved to hear that Donald is okay but I can’t help to think of what would happen if I was to lose him too. Instinctively, my bottom lip began to tremble as water filled my eyes. Silently, grief stricken, I watch as Willow walked out of the living room, never turning to bid her goodbyes. A part of me is relieved that she wouldn’t be present to witness me have another fit but a larger part of me wished she would have stayed. To hold me the way she had the other day. To reassure me that everything would be okay.

I sighed heavily. The heaving breath did not make me feel better the way it usually did, so I tried again.

Sigh.

It didn’t work.

I rolled my eyes at my foolishness. When did I turn into such a pathetic

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/16
PostPosted: Mon Sep 16, 2019 3:05 pm 
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As I said when I read it on a different website. I am loving this story. I think that you are doing a great job with the characters and creating the romantic tension. Thanks for writing.

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/16
PostPosted: Wed Sep 18, 2019 3:45 pm 
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Quote:
“You should speak with our foreman, Ethan Rayne,” I replied as I absentmindedly fiddled with the fabric of my nightgown. “He’s been with us since my father first started the company and knows everything that goes on inside the factory.”


agh, another baddie thrown into the fold! That now makes Richard Wilkins, Liam (angel) and Ethan all suspects, at least in my book. I'm wondering who else will be added ... Spike? Gloria? Adam? I'm liking how characters are slowly being folded into the story.

Quote:
The way the syllables of her name formed on my tongue tasted like sweet lemonade on a hot, sunny day, quenching a thirst I didn’t even know I had.


Love this sentence. Beautifully depicted. :clap Tara sure is crushing hard on Willow. Can't wait for them to both finally admit their attraction to one another.


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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/16
PostPosted: Thu Sep 19, 2019 11:00 pm 
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Just read all of this, wow! Loving the 40s setting and the different takes on our girls. Very cool, can't wait to read more.

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/16
PostPosted: Fri Sep 20, 2019 5:34 pm 
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I just noticed you're putting /18 after every chapter. Does that mean we're almost halfway finished with this incredible story?!? :cry :((


Quote:
“Thunderstorm kept you awake too?” I ventured as I took in her seemingly similar state of appearance. She had bags under her eye and her facial expression was cadaver-like, not just sagged but lacking its usual liveliness completely, as if she had left her spirit snuggling under the duvet.

She nodded her head once before ever so slowly turning back to the window. The faraway look that had glazed over her eyes was no longer present. In its wake was quiet contemplation. She stood like that for a moment longer, her eyelids drooped and there was a slight lolling to her head, drunk with fatigue.

“It’s starting to snow again,” she finally said, her eyes fixated on the white powder gracing the driveway. Turning back toward me, her arms unclasping as a small smile graced her lips, “I’m going to go fix some coffee. I’ll have Liam start breakfast and come retrieve you when it’s ready.”

Before I had a chance to speak, she was gone.



I'm getting the sudden feeling that Buffy may have had something to do with/or been a part of Mr. Maclay's death. This reminds me so much of the movie/game CLUE .... 'was it Buffy, in the laboratory with a candlestick?!' hahah Can't wait for tomorrow's update.

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/16
PostPosted: Fri Sep 20, 2019 8:25 pm 
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taranwillow4ever wrote:
As I said when I read it on a different website. I am loving this story. I think that you are doing a great job with the characters and creating the romantic tension. Thanks for writing.


Thanks a bunch! It really means a lot that you're enjoying the story ... and leaving double feedback :blush Hope you enjoy the next chapter!

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 Post subject: Re: Honeysuckle Rose - Update 9/16
PostPosted: Fri Sep 20, 2019 8:32 pm 
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Quote:
agh, another baddie thrown into the fold! That now makes Richard Wilkins, Liam (angel) and Ethan all suspects, at least in my book. I'm wondering who else will be added ... Spike? Gloria? Adam? I'm liking how characters are slowly being folded into the story.


I'm so horrible at keeping secrets, I wanna spill the beans on who else is in the story and when they show up but I don't want to ruin the surprise of it all.


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Love this sentence. Beautifully depicted. :clap


aww shucks :blush

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Tara sure is crushing hard on Willow.


She's head over heels ditsy for her.

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Can't wait for them to both finally admit their attraction to one another.


Soon, I promise.

_________________
Alyson, oh, Alyson why don´t you join my band? So you could play the flute like this one time in band camp.
I Am Forever / How I Met My Lover / Street Fighters / Paid To Get Excited / Pick My Partner / A Special Christmas of Sorts


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W/T Love 24/7 since July 2000
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