Gran Reserva Limitada

Wrapped in a white T-shirt, placed in a black canvas duffel–
a travel-size Adorini humidor and his hopes.
The flirty Spanish cedar box urges him onward.
Thirteen rolled soldiers guard this carrier’s hard on with dutiful vigilance.
Bulleit Bourbon, the Frontier Whiskey sloshes beneath his crisp North Face.
Before boarding the train east, he shreds the “please” off the bottle with his Kershaw Blur.
No time for “drinking responsibly.”
The 2 am train dumps him without mercy. He lands on the stained cement.
It’s The Wild West where screaming yellow mustangs and sleek horny stallions run free. Almost.
Mile after mile of the concrete mix is near unbearable and longer running than any field he’s ever slept in.
A dusty, ten-gallon hat sits on his brain and a mass of thick dark curls protects his scalp.
While smelling out the October air for her familiar city-built skin, he maneuvers across The Great Divide.
Right now, he’s so far removed from everything he knows. Everything. Except her.
He tugs protectively at his coat making sure the chest-liner is wrapped tight.
She nearly massacred his raw heart once. Damn near killed him.
Now he is The Magnificent Seven minus six–returning for more.
But, the olive branch she extended had roots. He still believes this.
He is willing to buck the bronco one last time. One more try.
Crazy wilding thoughts move his feet too fast. Before he can check the time or look at her Upper West Side address again,
looming across the avenue–her gilded monolith of speckled granite, insurmountable steel and shatter-proof glass.
The pungent city grit reddens his green eyes. With the quick wipe of a sleeve, he makes fast business of these renegade tears.
Almost there, he strolls into a nearby shop and ducks into the restroom–like Superman before the change.
He takes a long secret tug of amber confidence and chases it back with a fistful of mint Altoids.
Returned to Almost, he’s at Her building. He closes his eyes and sucks hard at the floating air. Dreaming. Remembering.
The thought of her wet vermilion lips around a Melanio is almost too much.
But he dares not go in unprotected. Not this time. He gently removes the Adorini from the duffel.
Thirteen pricey cigars gift wrapped in a fine humidor–a peace offering.
A capital start.
She absolutely adores a fine stogie–Gran Reserva Limitada.
This, he knows for certain.
What he does not know–
Is she capable of adoring him as much as her beloved decadent tobacco.

leonada’s earring

 

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6 thoughts on “Gran Reserva Limitada

  1. This was a fantastic read! Love the art. As a lover of fine tobacco, I totally understand your character’s wonder if she will adore him as much as the tobacco. Tis a difficult and rare thing to find fine leaf.

    Liked by 1 person

    • M.E. – I very much appreciate your generous thoughts.
      The image of a lovely gal puffin’ on a stogie makes me grin –
      Never tried one myself – though way back in college – I did smoke cigarettes trying to affect a, “rebel without a cause” vibe 😉
      am:)

      Liked by 1 person

      • I’ve actually never tried a cigar myself, but I’m an avid pipe smoker. Never went the cigarette route, pipe smoke smells much sweeter and is so much less–gross. You should totally spring for a nice cigar sometime 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

      • I just might add ‘trying a cigar’ to my – ta da list – I get to fulfill all dreams on this list once I get through my life’s – to do list, which is quite extensive and much more banal 😉
        am:)

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Another sendable. I’m questioning the lines (reads like poetry), but the writing is superb, the characterization so very solid (and I know this character from previous work, right?), prose lines worthy of pure poetry, and please, AM, no need to respond here. Just do my a favor: send, will ya?

    Liked by 1 person

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