It's Not Over

Dennis Smith is a scoundrel and proud of it. He favors himself quite charming to the women in the town and had the swarthy good looks to back it up. He never bothers with the truth when a lie would get him what he wanted and oft times much more quickly.

How he came to meet Ms. Constance Moseleigh is anyone’s guess. His keen eye told him that she had the requisite bank account for his attention and in the time it took to cross the street, dodging horse-drawn carriages, he began formulating his plan. Once on the proper side of the street, he feigned nonchalance as his key and tether swung back and forth with the rhythm of his steps and soon was making a full circular arc by the time he reached his target.

He grabbed the key to stop his spin, at the same time garnering the lady’s attention, “Hello, Miss, are you new to Spring Park?”

Most men would be turned back by her crisp “no,” but not he. He was determined to … what did he want? A simple introduction turned from easy pickings to a strategic game. He was up for the challenge, but this was unfamiliar territory.

“I was hoping to bump into you and invite you for a cup of tea or something…”

“Why?”

He lowered his head as he looked at her. He had practiced his smile and shy glance often enough in the mirror that he could pull it up without hesitation. She was not reacting as intended. She should have been bowled over and fawning over him. Her arrogance intrigued him. A sweet chuckle rumbled up, “Ma’am …”

“Excuse me.”

With a quick turn on her heel, she slipped away. He shouted after her, “It’s not over.”

[w.c. 298]

2/23/18 daily flash fiction contest.

prompts: key, spring, bowl