St. Patrick's Night

Ce n'était qu'un rêve

We were sitting outside an old cafe, at a small white table with a round glass top. It was a sunny day but it wasn't overbearing. There was a slight breeze, just enough to blow strands of her jet black hair across her face. We were sitting close to each other. I could feel her close to me. I was leaned over with my head propped up on my fist and my elbow on the table facing her. My hand sat on the back of her chair. She was sitting with her right leg crossed over her left leg. The top of her foot was coyly brushing against the back of my left calf. She was having some expensive weird coffee drink and I was having a dram of Cointreau. I leaned in closer to her and gently brushed her hair back, kissing her on the neck very slowly. I left my lips pressed against her warm skin and breathed in the scent of her hair. She smelled so womanly. I pulled back and gave her a wink and a broad smile. She squinted at me and pouted her lips. "You're trying to cause trouble, aren't ya?" she asked quietly, more with her dark green eyes than with her lilted Irish brogue.

Her hair was black like Guinness, and she had a slight dusting of freckles across her nose and her pale shoulders. "Yes. Yes I am." I smiled back. Well, I was trying to cause trouble… She shook her head and pursed her lips even tighter but broke into a cute, knowing smile.

"How does the world stay safe with you around?" she smirked. I reached for her hand and held it gently. I held her palm open and tickled my fingers lightly across it. She gave me a suspicious look. "It's not working," she said, her resolve starting to quaver. I looked into her eyes and brought her hand up to my lips. I kissed her palm. Lingering. Slowly planting kisses. Watching her. I followed her life line to the inside of her wrist. She bit her lower lip. I smiled and pressed my lips lightly to her. I flicked my tongue. She gave a startled gasp. I could feel her pulse quicken. She drew her hand back with a heavy breath and crossed her arms. I laughed, "All right... All right... but let me just say this doesn't mean I give up."

She looked at me full on, like a mother bear, gauging and calculating. She shook her head again and laughed, tilting her head back. Her beautiful white teeth flashing. Her laughter rolling like a brook, languidly splashing the flowers on its green banks.

She was wearing a light pink, sleeveless, fitting t-shirt. A white, flowing skirt hugged her hips, heightening her feminine curves. "Be my wife," I told her.

"But Charley! I hardly even know ya!" she said doubting herself, but her eyebrows knitted with stubborn Irish resolution.

"All right, but promise me to spend the rest of your time here with me." I pleaded. She looked sadly, deep into my eyes.

"I promise".

And then I woke up.