“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before! It feels so obvious now!”
First thing the next day, you headed to Twilight’s castle first thing, and after losing your way in the hallways for about 10 minutes, you met up with her and told her of the proposal Rarity had made last night. This really seemed to set the gears in that clever brain of hers turning as she mulled it over. At last, her face lighting up like a beacon, she declared it ‘brilliant’, and wondered how on earth she had never thought of it before.
“I mean, when it comes down to it, it really does feel like a spa treatment,” she says. “When I had my session, I felt completely relaxed and rejuvenated, as though I'd just had a massage. Still,” she adds, with a smile, “if anypony were to come to that conclusion, I'm glad it was Rarity. She really is the best-versed in anything spa-related amongst my friends.”
“So, since you approve of the idea,” you say, “what's the next course of action?”
“Well, do you want to pursue it?” Twilight asks. “Would you feel comfortable performing affection therapy in a more public setting?”
Would you? You had been mulling it over ever since Rarity had left, considering and reconsidering the proposal and everything that went with it. On the one hand, this would be a huge leap, going from conducting your practice from your own home to doing it in a much more public venue. On the other hand, it would bring in a much wider range of clientele, which not only meant larger profits, but also more ponies to help relax and feel at ease. That had been the clincher.
“As long as the rest of the spa doesn’t suffer from lack of patronage,” you say, “I think I would feel comfortable.”
Twilight smiles.
“Oh, I think there’s little worry about that,” she says. “It'll have to be sanctioned by the owners of the Ponyville spa, but I'm sure Aloe and Lotus will more than approve, given your current track record. I’ll handle all of the, *ahem*, ‘technical’ stuff, and we should be good to go.”
You smile gratefully down at her.
“Thanks, Twilight,” you say. “I can't even begin to tell you how grateful I am for everything you've done for me.”
Twilight smiles more warmly and pats your hand with her hoof.
“Anything for a good friend,” she says. “You just leave it to me. This is going to be revolutionary!”
***
Revolutionary.
The word rings in your head as you wend your way through Ponyville, hands in your pockets. Some ponies wave and smile at you as you pass, and you reciprocate in kind. However, it doesn't mitigate the buzzing in your head.
Revolutionary? You? Something you had done, revolutionary? Yes, Twilight had often assured you of how ground-breaking and innovative affection therapy would be, but somehow, that word left a different, more significant impact. If you had been told, back in Manehattan, that anything you would ever do would be ‘revolutionary’, you would think the pony who said it had had too much hard cider.
Not that you'd ever gotten that much encouragement from anypony before. Back when you still lived in the big city, you'd been nothing. A nobody. Practically a non-entity. That was why you had moved to Manehattan in the first place, to make something of yourself, and you knew how well that had turned out. It was why you were here in Ponyville now.
“Why are you even bothering to try? You don't even have a mark. How do you know you're meant to be good at anything at all?”
You give your head a vigorous shake. You shouldn’t think that way anymore. Those days are behind you now. You have a better home now, and what was more, you have better friends.
Friends who don't care if you have a cutie mark or not.
If you can do magic or not.
...If you’re a human or not.
*Whump!*
“Whoa! Careful there, pardner!”
You come to an abrupt halt as you bump into somepony. Several thuds punctuate the air, telling you that this somepony was carrying something, and you had just upset her load. Dazed from being jerked out of your preoccupation, it takes a moment or two for you to process who you had just collided with.
You now see that it's an orange-coated Earth pony with a blonde mane and tail, both loosely tied with hair bands. She has green eyes, freckles on her cheeks, and a brown Stetson perched atop her head. She's a bit short and stout of figure, with rather thick, powerful-looking legs. A pair of baskets are slung at her curvy hips, full to the brim with apples, and several more lay scattered on the ground.
This is Applejack, one of Twilight’s friends. She works at Sweet Apple Acres, a farm that provides Ponyville and Equestria with mouth-wateringly delicious apples, and annually churns out tasty apple cider and Zap Apple Jam. You had tried some of their imported wares in Manehattan, and found to be absolutely delectable. Yet, somehow, they seemed even tastier being eaten in Ponyville, where they came from. You’d noticed this seeming anomaly when you sampled a gift basket of Red Delicious that Applejack had given you when you first met her.
As for the mare herself, you know her to be hard-working, strong, kind-hearted, and honest. Though she already has an older brother and younger sister, she acts like everypony is part of her family. She has a sweet habit of calling her close friends ‘sugarcube’, and she generally gives off a vibe of being somepony you can talk to about anything, somepony who will lend a listening ear and offer advice.
Needless to say, the fact that it’s her that you just collided with and whose cargo you just upset puts you into a bit of a fluster.
“S-Sorry, Applejack!” you blurt out. “That was completely my fault! Let me help you with those!”
You hurriedly stoop down and begin picking up the fallen apples, trying to brush off any dirt that may have gotten on them. You’re too afraid to look up at her and see how angry or upset she might be, but she just chuckles in a good-natured way.
“Simmer down, there, hun. Ah ain’t mad. It was just an accident.”
She has a very mellow, easygoing voice, flavored with a country accent that really adds an extra layer to her hospitable temperament. Hearing her assure you that she didn’t consider you at fault calms you down, and you finish putting the misplaced apples back in her baskets.
“I still should’ve been watching where I was going,” you say.
“Don’t sweat it,” says Applejack. “You looked like you were pretty deep in thought.”
“Heh, yeah, I kinda was,” you say. “I was thinking about taking my job to the next level.”
Applejack tilts her head in polite puzzlement.
“Yer job?” she asks, before the answer hits her. “Oh! Right! That therapy stuff Twilight mentioned. How’s that workin’ out for ya?”
“Pretty well,” you say. “Nothing but satisfied clients so far.”
“That’s good to hear,” says Applejack, smiling. “So, how does it work, exactly? Twi tried to explain it to me, but she was insistin’ on usin’ big, fancy words Ah couldn’t rightly follow,” she adds, sheepishly.
“I getcha,” you say. “Well, to put it in laypony’s terms, affection therapy helps ponies relax and feel comfortable through little displays of affection or playfulness. A good scratch behind the ears, a belly rub, even something as simple as a hug. There’s nothing really complicated about it, and a few of your friends can vouch for its effectiveness,” you add, with a grin.
“Ohhh, is that right?” Applejack asks, sounding interested. “And ya say it helps ponies relax?”
“Yep. Why, is it something you’re interested in?”
Applejack seems to think it over for a minute or two. At last, she says,
“Ah reckon so. Buckin’ trees all day can make a pony sore, y’know?”
“I'd imagine so,” you say, “having never been a farmer myself.”
“Well, Rarity’s been takin’ me to the spa a lot lately, and it's been doin’ me a world of good, so Ah’m more than willin’ to see what yer affection therapy’s all about.”
“Excellent!” you say, eagerly. “Where and at what time?”
Applejack taps her chin in thought for a moment or two.
“How does down at the farm sound, just after dinner? That'd be about sundown.”
“Sounds good,” you say. “I'll see you then, Applejack.”
“See ya then, pard,” says Applejack,
With a genial wink, she shifts her saddle baskets up a bit and starts off towards Sweet Apple Acres, while you wend your own way home, your mind buzzing more than ever.
***
The sky is a brilliant golden-yellow, shot with pink and red as you make your way towards Sweet Apple Acres. It isn't often that you visit the farm. Still, you're on fairly good terms with the rest of Applejack’s family. Well, the members in Ponyville, at any rate. The Apples have farms and orchards all over Equestria, and the only ones you've ever met were right here; you have no idea just how many Apples there must be.
In any case, as mentioned, you were on good terms with the Ponyville Apples. You'd often run into Applejack or her brother, Big Macintosh, selling their wares in the market. Big Mac was a stallion of few words, but extremely strong and infinitely courteous, happy to assist if muscle or architectural skill was wanted. You'd once seen him haul an enormous wagon full of lumber through town, without any appearance of tiredness.
Applejack’s little sister, Apple Bloom, was also a common sight in town, either off playing with her two friends, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo, or putting her unique talent to use. She and her friends had a knack for recognizing a pony’s true potential, whether they didn't have their cutie mark yet, or didn't understand what their talent was. They were all bright, cheerful, friendly fillies, as adorable as puppies, and the big pink bow Apple Bloom always wore only heightened her adorability factor in your eyes.
As for Applejack’s grandmother, Granny Smith, she doesn't leave the farm much except for market visits. You'd heard stories about how she was one of the first ponies to ever settle in Ponyville, so it was anypony’s guess how old she was. Despite her age, she still has a razor-sharp wit and admirable memory, and an absolute fund of stories and wise sayings, while overall being a very amiable old mare. Even though the three siblings do most of the work, it's not hard to see that it's Granny Smith who really runs things around the farm.
As you approach the farmhouse, the hearty smell of apples filling your nostrils, a pink shape comes bobbing into view, bouncing like something that would say the most wonderful thing about it was being the only one. It only takes a second or two for you to realize who it is before it stops right in front of you.
This is Pinkie Pie. It's impossible for anyone living in Ponyville to not know who Pinkie Pie is. She makes it her business to know everypony, and that does mean everypony. She works at Sugarcube Corner, alongside the Cakes, but her main talent lies in throwing parties. Whatever the occasion: birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, cuteceneras, national holidays, even things remote and obscure, she can whip up a celebration like nopony else. Well, unless you counted the time Cheese Sandwich visited Manehattan; the party he threw was one of the only times you'd really felt connected with the other ponies of that city.
Pinkie’s coat is a bright pink, while her mane and tail, both almost deliberately messy, are magenta. Her baby-blue eyes match two of the balloons that make up her cutie mark, the other being yellow. She has a plump, round-bellied physique, evidence of her love of sweets, though she moves with the flexibility and agility of a much-slimmer pony. Nevertheless, this chubby build makes her hugs, which she gives out for the least of reasons, very cozy and comforting, even if her grip can be a little tight at times.
Pinkie is...there's no other word for it: Pinkie. She's quite silly and bubbly, easy to laughter or to make others laugh. She can also be a bit odd at times, however. She sometimes says or does things that make no immediate sense, often even defying the laws of physics, and never once deigning to explain how she does them. In spite of this, Pinkie's a very sweet-natured and affectionate mare, always happy to see others happy. In some ways, she's like a foal in a mare’s body, though smarter than she lets on. How else could she have a self-made, working party cannon?
“Hiya!” says Pinkie, beaming up at you.
“Hey there, Pinkie Pie,” you say, with a smile. “What brings you around here?”
“Visiting Applejack,” said Pinkie. “It was dinner time when I stopped by, so they invited me to stay!”
“Well, that was sweet of them.”
“I know! But don't worry, there might still be some pie left for you, before you have your therapy session with Applejack, or maybe after. Pie’s good at any time, I say!”
“Heh, I have to agree there,” you say, before something else Pinkie said clicks into place in your brain. “Wait, how did you know I'm on my way to a therapy session?”
“Cuz Applejack was talking about it at dinner, silly,” says Pinkie, with the air of one explaining the obvious. “She said a full stomach might make a belly rub more relaxing. I'll have to see if it's true myself one of these days.”
“Well, if you're ever in the mood,” you say, “just drop by.”
“I will!” says Pinkie, brightly. “See ya later!”
And, pausing only to rear up and give you a quick hug (“just because”, she says), she hops off. Smiling and shaking your head at her antics, you continue onwards toward the farmhouse. You approach the front door and knock, whereupon a dog starts barking from inside.
“Come in!” calls Granny Smith’s voice over the barking.
You ease upon the door, only to be greeted by a brown and white dog, who leaps onto you, almost knocking you off your feet, and begins enthusiastically licking your face. Laughing, you gently set her back down on the ground.
“Down, Winona, down! Easy, girl. It's good to see you too.”
You pat her head, and she calms down almost immediately, wagging her tail all the while. Looking up, you see Granny Smith, an elderly green Earth pony, her mane and tail in white buns, and an apple pie for a cutie mark, sitting in her rocking chair, smiling.
“Hey there, sonny,” she says. “Thought you might be Pinkie Pie come back for another helpin’. That girl’s got an appetite that could put Applejack’s to shame.”
“Hello, Granny Smith,” you say. “I actually just ran into Pinkie Pie on the way over, but it wouldn't surprise me if she did do that.”
Granny chuckles, then says,
“Yer here for Applejack and this ‘affection therapy’ you do, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“She's upstairs waitin’ fer ya, and if ya want, Ah’ll have a piece of apple pie ready fer ya to take home when yer done.”
“That's very generous, Granny Smith, thank you,” you say, graciously. “You don't want any affection therapy yourself, do you?”
“Oh, no, thanks,” says Granny, genially. “Just knowin’ it'll make Applejack happy is good enough for me.”
You smile, then start up the stairs. Granny whistles, making you stop in your tracks, but you then see it’s just to call Winona to her side.
“Don't want her interruptin’ ya,” said Granny, giving Winona a rub behind the ear. “Winona’s a good girl, but she likes attention, too. Applejack’s room’s down the hall, second on the right.”
“Thanks,” you say, gratefully, then continue the ascent.
The second floor landing comprises of four doorways, leading to what you can only suppose are the Apples’ rooms. Following Granny’s directions, you approach Applejack’s door and knock.
“Come in,” comes Applejack’s voice, and you enter.
Applejack is lying atop her bed, forehooves behind her head, hind legs crossed, her hat pulled over her eyes. She might have been asleep. In that posture, her belly looks a bit distended, rounder and plumper than usual. You can only surmise it to be evidence of a very hearty dinner.
Applejack tilts her hat up to look at you, smiling gently as she sets it aside.
“Howdy, sugarcube,” she says.
“Good evening, Applejack. Are you ready?”
“You betcha. Just a sec.”
With a grunt, she heaves herself up into a sitting posture, making her stomach look even bigger and rounder. You take a seat on the bed; it creaks a little under your combined weight. Then, to your slight surprise, she drapes herself right across your lap, on her back, her forelegs behind her head. She might have been getting ready to take a siesta on the grass. She's unsurprisingly heavier than any other pony who has lain down in the belly rub position like this.
“I take it you want a belly rub?” you ask.
“How'd ya guess?” asks Applejack, cheekily. “Ah give ‘em to Winona all the time, so Ah’ve been curious to know what it's like.”
“Fair enough,” you say, with a grin. “Big dinner, I'm guessing?”
“Yeah,” says Applejack, not looking the least abashed. “Ah’ve always been a big eater. Ah burn most of it off workin’ in the fields, but Ah can never really get rid of mah gut. Havin’ Pinkie stay for dinner kinda made me careless, so Ah guess Ah really let maself go.”
She pats her stomach, which jiggles from the contact.
“No problem,” you say. “So, before we begin, are there any restrictions you'd like to impose? I mean, anywhere you don't want me to touch, like your mane or tail?”
Applejack thinks for a moment or two, then says,
“Nah. Ah trust ya, hun. Do yer stuff.”
This encouraged, you place a hand on her full belly and start gently rubbing. First you go back and forth, then in circles, then gently press your fingertips in, giving a little mini-massage. You also can't resist giving it a little pat or two, making it jiggle a bit more. In spite of all the muscle that must've been the chief cause of her heavier weight, her belly is still soft and cushy. You also have a shrewd idea, as you did with Starlight, that you may be easing some stomach pain she might have from her big meal.
You watch as Applejack's eyes close, a long and deep sigh emanating from her, looking about ready to fall asleep. Smiling, you reach down and start stroking her smooth and silky mane with your free hand. And, to your surprise, she actually nuzzles her freckled cheek into your palm, eyes still closed. She really is trying to experience what her dog gets; it's absolutely adorable.
After a time, you start scratching behind her ear with the hand at her cheek. You see the telltale look of momentary surprise on her face from the sensation, and then it melts away into a contented smile, eyes closing again. Her tail even gives a swish.
“Land sakes…” she murmurs. “That feels good…Now Ah know how Winona feels when Ah do it to her…”
“Do you want me to keep going?” you ask. “I mean, is this all you want right here?”
“Mhmm,” she replies. “Just the scratchin’ and the rubbin’. Yer doin’ just fine, hun.”
Smiling in token of this, you continue, rubbing her belly with one hand and scratching behind her ear with the other. You don't pretend to know the full strenuousness of farm labor, so you can't exactly gauge how badly she needed this. However, the peaceful, almost filly-like smile on her face gives you a good idea.
The minutes trail by, the sun sinking lower and lower over the horizon. Between the influences of both the ear scratching and belly rubbing, you wouldn't have been surprised if Applejack really had fallen asleep. She's breathing quietly, that same peaceful smile on her face. You hate the idea of waking her up too soon, so you kept quiet, all the while dreading some other interruption that might wake her.
The sun is completely out of sight by the time Applejack finally stirs. Her eyes slowly open, and she gives a big yawn as she stretches her legs. Bracing one forehoof on your shoulder, she heaves her stout bulk up into a sitting position on your lap, smiling.
“How do you feel?” you ask.
“Like a million bits,” she says. “Haven't felt this relaxed in a timberwolf’s age. Ah’m just sorry if I kept it too simple. Didn't really let ya show off all yer therapy skills.”
“Oh, no, no, it's fine,” you say, earnestly. “Nothing wrong with simple. Not everypony has the same tastes. Some might even be content with just a hug.”
“Swell,” says Applejack. “And come to think of it, that might not be a bad way to end this off. C’mere.”
Putting her forelegs around you, she pulls you into a tight but warm hug. Smiling, you return the embrace, feeling her nestle against you, her chin on your shoulder, her cheek against yours, as you gently stroke her back. She gives off another contented sigh, and you can practically feel her muscles relaxing underneath your hold. It's as though she had been tightly-sprung, like an old wind-up toy, and this hug is the last act in completely loosening that tightness.
At last, the two of you ease apart, and you see nothing but relaxedness and gratitude in those green eyes of Applejack’s.
“Thanks, hun,” she says. “Ah really needed this. It was really kind of you to do this for me.”
“You're welcome, Applejack,” you say. “It makes me happy seeing ponies happy.”
Applejack chuckles and tousles your hair affectionately.
“Between that and the hug, yer a regular Pinkie Pie yerself,” she says.
As it clicks into place what she means, you laugh too. At just that moment, there's a knock at the door, and the two of you look up.
“Sis? Can Ah come in?”
It’s Apple Bloom’s voice. Applejack shifts herself off of your lap before answering.
“‘Course, Apple Bloom. Come on in.”
The door opens, and Apple Bloom steps in. She's a yellow filly about half her sister’s height, with orange eyes, a red mane and tail, the former decorated with the previously-mentioned bow, and a cutie mark of a three-toned shield. She's a bit stocky and sturdy for a filly, but that’s to be expected when she’s already helping out with farm work. At the moment, she looks rather hesitant, as though afraid she just interrupted something.
“What's the matter, sugarcube?” Applejack asks, kindly. “Ain't quite bedtime yet, so it can't have been a nightmare.”
“Nah, it ain't that,” says Apple Bloom. “Ah just wondered if you were done with yer therapy yet.”
“Yep, just finished,” says Applejack. “Why?”
Apple Bloom shuffles her hooves awkwardly, looking from Applejack to you to the floor. At last, looking up at you, she asks, timidly,
“Do ya think...do ya think Ah could try it too?”
Both you and Applejack look astonished. Then, at the same time, your faces break into identical kind smiles.
“Of course, Apple Bloom,” you say. “Come on up.”
Smiling hopefully, Apple Bloom trots over and, with a crouch and wriggle of the hindquarters that reminds you of a cat about to pounce, bounds into your lap, making you laugh.
“Easy there, kiddo,” you say. “Your sister was just laying across my lap for a belly rub, and she's not exactly a feather.”
“Oh, shush,” says Applejack, giving you a playful nudge as Apple Bloom giggles.
“So, how does it work?” Apple Bloom asks.
“Oh, it's nothing complex,” you say. “Sometimes it's as simple as play.”
To demonstrate, you boop Apple Bloom’s nose. Her nose scrunches up and, once again, as though the law of boopage demanded it, she boops you back. In retaliation, you open a tickle attack on her little tummy. She collapses onto her back in your lap, writhing and squealing with laughter.
“A-Appleja-ha-ha-hack!” she cries out. “H-Help!”
“Sorry, little sis,” says Applejack, looking away innocently with her hooves behind her back. “Ah don't think Ah oughta interfere.”
At last, you ease up, and she lays there, panting and giggling. Reaching down, you start scratching under her chin, and her giggles subside into a peaceful sigh, her head tilting back, her eyes closed, as you also start rubbing her soft little belly. It's almost exactly like giving the same sort of affection to a cat, even if Apple Bloom is more puppy-like in cuteness. You keep this up for a little while, scratching and rubbing, Applejack watching with a warm smile on her face.
After a time, Apple Bloom opens her eyes, smiling relaxedly, and you stop.
“How was that?” you ask.
“Really good,” says Apple Bloom, sitting up. “Ah feel great. Thanks a bunch.”
She rears up and gives you the biggest hug she can muster. Smiling, you pat the back of her head in return.
“You're welcome, Apple Bloom. Happy to help.”
The little filly looks up at her big sister, who beams and nuzzles her nose against hers. Giggling, Apple Bloom lets go, hops back down onto the floor and trots to the door, yawning.
“Ah'm gonna head for bed. G’night, y’all.”
“Good night, sugarcube,” says Applejack.
“Good night.”
Apple Bloom opens the door, then pauses, as though she bumped into something.
“Oh! Sorry, Big Mac. Didn't see ya there.”
As she leaves, Big Macintosh is visible in the doorway, looking awkward, as though caught in the act of something private. He's a red stallion, close to you in height, with green eyes, an orange mane and tail, and a cutie mark of half a green apple. Even indoors, he still wears a large yoke around his neck.
“What's up, Big Mac?” Applejack asks. “Need somethin’?”
Big Mac scratches the back of his head and doesn't say a word, still looking like he wished he hadn't been discovered. Suddenly, a shrewd idea comes into your head of what's going on.
“Were you looking for some therapy yourself, Big Mac?” you ask. “Maybe a scritch behind the ears?”
Still looking rather embarrassed, he mumbles,
“Eeyup.”
Applejack chuckles.
“Well, Ah’ll be,” she says, putting her hooves to her hips. “Ah never thought Ah’d see the day, Big Mac.”
Big Mac shoots her a glare, but you say, with a smile,
“No need to be ashamed, Big Mac. I gave a little scratching to Spike, and he loved it. Come on over.”
Big Mac hesitates for a second, then steps over, sitting down in front of you. You reach up and start scratching him behind the ears. His eyelids droop, and a relaxed, almost dopey smile comes across his muzzle. You even almost swear that his hind hoof twitches, like a happy dog's. Applejack snickers.
“You're not gonna let him live this down, are you?” you whisper to her, so that Big Mac couldn't hear.
“Nope,” she whispers back, with a cheeky grin.
This goes on for a little while, just like with Apple Bloom. Given how hard Big Mac works, just like Applejack, you can imagine how much he needed something like this to relax his nerves. You also had to admire his courage for asking while his sister was still in the room, knowing she'd tease him for it. You just hope Applejack will keep her ribbing on a good-natured level.
At last, Big Mac opens his eyes again, a look of great contentment on his face, and you pause.
“Feel better?” you ask.
“Eeyup,” he says, with a nod. “Thanks.”
“Anytime," you say, smiling.
With that, Big Mac stands up and makes rather hastily for the door, as though desirous of avoiding hearing Applejack tease him again. Once he's out of sight, his little sister only manages a soft chuckle.
“Yer one lucky fella,” she tells you. “You got to work yer magic on me and mah siblings.”
“I was glad to,” you say, smiling at her. “And hopefully, if Twilight gets the spa ponies’ approval, I'll be helping out a lot more ponies.”
“Well, ain't that somethin’?” says Applejack, looking impressed. “Bringin’ it to the spa, huh?”
“Yep, and it was Rarity’s idea.”
“Heh, shoulda figured,” says Applejack. “Well, Ah may have to schedule an appointment with ya there.”
She winks at you, bringing a grin to your face. With a much warmer and genuine smile on her face, she draws a foreleg around your shoulders and pulls you into a hug against her side, nuzzling your cheek.
“Thanks again. You really are a sweet fella, doin’ all this fer ponies.”
“Aw, well,” you say, bashfully. “Like I said, I'm just happy to make ponies happy.”
She gently releases you, hops down off the bed, and says,
“Here, Ah’ll walk ya out.”
You stand up to accompany her. The two of you head down the stairs to the main floor. Granny Smith is nowhere in sight, but sitting on the kitchen table is a rather large box, much too big for a single piece of pie. Upon closer inspection, you see that it's an entire apple pie. On a note stuck to it is written,
“For your kind and generous services. Thank you.
-Granny Smith”
You stare, dumbfounded, from it to Applejack, who smiles and nods encouragingly. You pick it up carefully in both hands and carry it as though the box were made of glass. Applejack walks you to the door and holds it open.
“G’night,” she says.
“Good night,” you reply.
You step out, and turn to see her giving you one last smile before shutting the door. Your heart nearly full to bursting with warmth and happiness, you start off, intending to cut up a nice big slice of pie for dessert once you get home.