11: Water Under the Bridge

Torn from the passionate kiss by a startling sound of a knock on the driver door's window, the car's horn quiets as Clyde and Harper look outside.

Their inspection falls on a middle-aged man wearing a wide-brim hat as large hands cup around his eyes; attempting to peer through the nearly one-way glass, they get a good look at dark eyebrows.

With a red, paisley bandana tied around a thick, tan neck, beads of visible sweat drip down a brawny chest concealed by a drenched, white tank top.

Tufts of dark, curly hair peek out the top of his shirt and a gruff, five o' clock shadow beard catches her attention.

Harper looks at Clyde like a guilty teenager after the sudden intrusion, her arousal turning into embarrassment at the thought of being spied on.

Watching a tiny smirk form across his lips, she shifts in his lap. Shaking his head with a chuckle as she slides from his lap and back into the seat, "Well, if he was an ax-murderer, he'd know we were in here for sure."

Teasingly pinching her hip with his right hand, his left hand moves to hold down the power-window button to lower the dark glass; she playfully punches his shoulder before the man's gray eyes greet them.

Harper cringes when the man spits off to the side then places a toothpick coolly between defined lips.

"Afternoon," Clyde nods to the man blocking sunlight from his face, "S'all good?"

Tipping the brim of his brown, flat-brimmed hat, he makes direct eye contact with Clyde and nods.

Shifting his piercing gaze to Harper, the tip of his hat and friendly nod draws out ruddy cheeks and an awkward, silent, "hello."

As the toothpick hangs onto his lips, his voice comes out softer than she was anticipating for a man his size, "Yessir, 'ceptin the fyreworks."

In a southern accent so thick Harper can just -barely- understand the words that are coming out of his mouth, "You's parkin' where dey needa set up, sir."

Taking a step back from the truck with no-doubt, cowboy boots crunching the gravel under his soles, he points with a brown-leather, gloved hand.

"Made roomin' dere for ya."

Harper scans the worker's dusty shirt and muddy blue jeans before following an extended index finger off to the left of them. Laying eyes upon a stately, cobblestone barn with decorated, Tuscan-style roofs, her lips form a silent "ooo" when eyes of wonder roam open, dark wooden doors at the end of the gravel path.

"And the rest of this," Clyde gestures around, "Leadin' up to the house is off-limits," he scratches his jaw while raising an eyebrow to the man, "Right?"

"You's got it, sir," the worker smoothly flips the toothpick with only his mouth and a hardened stare, "Folks wanderin' a 'dis way's -tryin'-ta find sumptin'."

Shifting the truck into drive with a wave just outside the window, "Thanks, Viper," Clyde eases his foot off the brake.

Tilting her head at the ruggedly handsome man when he takes another step back, briefly watching the tires as they begin to roll, he takes Harper's eyes by surprise before tipping his hat again; this time, a dimpled smile slaps her across the face.

Dazed by the unexpected, southern charm of a Texan farmer, beige cheeks flush until the man is out of view through the driver's window.

Clyde glances at Harper, feeling her facing him without moving, "What's that look for?"

Shaking her head and sitting back in her seat, "Nothing," she clears her throat and tucks free-falling side bangs back behind her ear.

"I was wondering what kind of name is "Viper"," she trails off, hoping he doesn't accuse her of ogling the older man that works for him–even though she -knows- she was.

"Son' bitch got bit by a viper when he was just a boy and lived," he clicks his cheek into a toothy grin, "No one's dumb enough to fuck with vipers."

Scoffing, returning his sight to the bend in the road as they move from flat concrete back onto gravel, "But he likes to keep 'em as pets now."

Rapidly losing curiosity in the stranger, and hoping she doesn't run into any snakes on the farm, "...right…"

Following the short road with gravel shifting under the weight of crawling tires, "What's supposed to be blocked off from the rest of the house?"

Harper grows even more curious about Clyde's plans.

Sounding more suspicious than she intended with her bluntness, "What exactly do you have planned here?"

With a grin that nearly stretches ear to ear, the depth of his sea-green stare makes her forget about Viper.

"This the first year since my parents died this land's hosting the yearly grape festival," curled fingers open as he palms the steering wheel.

Glancing to see her reaction while they creep into the roof's shade, "It kicks off with a masquerade ball and the town celebrates for a -whole- week."

Relieved to see her suspicion transform into thrill, she grabs his thigh with a happy smile; a sense of joy knocks her off her feet the way it did when he proposed to her.

Until she frowns.

"I can't stay the whole week though," mumbling regretfully, wishing they could hide away in this distant fantasy without fear or worry of a mundane reality crashing down on their relationship and causing problems.

"I have afternoon classes tomorrow…"

Shifting the gears to Park after resting fully inside, he pulls her close.

"I know darlin'," he pecks the side of her head, "I'll have Cinderella back by then."

He chuckles breathily, Harper rolling her eyes at the oh-so-true-feeling reference.

"Just wanted to show you that none of this," he circles his free hand in the air in front of him, "Is -imaginary-."

Being sure to see her face express more guilt while throwing her words back in her face, he perks up as though it was just a tease.

"Hosting it here shows everyone we're open for business, and we're makin' a killin for the fair tickets since we got vendors that wanted to pay in and set up shop," he rocks her gently under his wing before giving her upper arm a squeeze.

Sliding her arm between his back and black leather to side-hug, "This is incredible! I'm sorry I started to doubt you. I've just been so stre–."

Harper falls silent when Clyde gently guides her chin up to look into his eyes.

"S'fine, Harp, we've both been other people lately. Let's just blame it on the southern heat and put it all behind us."

Staring deep into her eyes with a wistful gaze, "Whaddya say?"