Admittedly, it’s Mary’s idea that they get Ophelia a gift for her birthday. John has never been very good at birthdays, with friends and family as much as girlfriends. He doesn’t even know how many knows the girl’s birthday in the first place, except that some people seem to have a sense about these things. And hell if he even knows what you’re supposed to get a seventeen-year-old from the 1950s as a thanks-for-being-a-great-babysitter gift.
Lotion, it turns out, and bubble bath. Mary insists she’ll love it, and oh, by the way, do you mind stopping by and giving it to her on your way to work? Thanks, love.
When John knocks on the door, he at first gets no answer, and gets ready to depart with the assumption that Ophelia’s still sleeping. He’s about to leave the package behind with a note, which suddenly the door is flung open.
“Um.” He cocks a brow at the unfamiliar woman, and checks the number on the door to make sure he’s knocked on the right now. “Ophelia de Luce lives here, right?"
no subject
Lotion, it turns out, and bubble bath. Mary insists she’ll love it, and oh, by the way, do you mind stopping by and giving it to her on your way to work? Thanks, love.
When John knocks on the door, he at first gets no answer, and gets ready to depart with the assumption that Ophelia’s still sleeping. He’s about to leave the package behind with a note, which suddenly the door is flung open.
“Um.” He cocks a brow at the unfamiliar woman, and checks the number on the door to make sure he’s knocked on the right now. “Ophelia de Luce lives here, right?"
[both please!]