[Registration Table: Hunter R & Cris M]
As twilight soaked the earth in shadows speared through, the air took on the perfumea purple—a high-threaded scent, sweet in the nose, like decaying lavender, and Cris looked around with longing. The spices, cassia and cloves, told him Sam was near, or had been recent, a kretek between ribbon-pink lips. He didn't see her nowhere, even among the few people milling about, around the registration table, but it was almost like she left warmth behind her, spooled up in that smoke, and he wrapped himself in it like it was a cocoon. Eyes closed, he waited for Hunter to join him.
It was kinda bullshit that the one night they'd gotten a sitter, he and Sam had to go 'round and be with other people—her Iris and him Hunter. No offense to them, huh? It was just like the guy had told Sam no less than ten times throughout the day, it was unfair and it was bullshit. Eggs were fine and dandy, but he wanted to be with her. Cris lamented the fact that he couldn't switch invites with Iris, but a parta him knew, if he and Sam went egg hunting together, they wouldn't get real far, and the last thing the machinerya Repose's rumor mill needed was the gristlea finding the Sheriff and his girl fucking in onea the orchards with Easter baskets at their feet.
It was definitely bullshit.
But, over the hoursa the day, Cris came to accept that fact and by the time the sun closed up shop, he was looking forward to some time away from paperwork and some time with Hunter, who he still had to ask 'bout moving over to Lou's antique shop. He'd stopped upstairs after work to grab some food and a coat, just in case, and to give Joey a kiss before leaving her for the evening.—The coat was different than Cris' usual black and long. It was rustic, let's say, brownish, short, and left open. He covered his throat with an ochre-block scarf and swapped his button-up for a tan V-neck sweater. He figured, in spitea the mild weather, night might cool things down and he didn't wanna end up breaking eggs while he shivered or something.
There by the table, the guy hoped Iris would refrain from doing anything stupid and freaking Sam out. He took out his phone, texted her a heart, and settled back into the cobwebsa cloves to wait for Hunter to find him there, so they could destroy the opposition. A flashlight in one pocket, a couple sandwiches hastily made—one for him, one for Hunter—, and he was ready. He had to do it, so he might as well have fun, huh?