“And . . . now.”
Silence.
“And . . . now.”
Silence.
“And . . . now?”
Silence.
“Maybe now?”
Silence.
“Now.”
Silence.
“Please?”
Silence, except for the ticking of the clock, of course.
Baked Bread groaned and smacked his head onto the counter. He looked at the gold clock. “I thought for sure that a wink meant ‘yes,’” he sighed, running yesterday’s conversation through his head again. “But I guess not...”
The clock agreed, reading several hours after lunchtime.
“Closing time again, I guess she’s a no show,” said Baked despondently, cleaning the last of the plates. He picked up the closed sign and walked over to the store’s entrance. Opening the door, he prepared to hang the sign on the handle.
However, a golden mane and a grey coat walking towards him from out of the evening town made him immediately reconsider his course of action; he hid the sign behind his back and held the door open for the mare.
“Oh, thank you,” gasped the mare as she walked past him, sounding slightly out of breath. “Sorry I’m late.”
“It’s fine,” assured the stallion, desperately trying to keep the closed sign behind his back as he firmly shut the door behind the mare.
“Really? I wasn’t sure when you closed, but I came as fast as I could,” she said, turning to him.
The stallion felt his knees weaken as he was beset with her simple beauty from such a short range. It seemed that all she had done was comb her mane and apply a light coating of a gentle pink lipstick, but the difference it made was astonishing. Her mane appeared as soft as silk, and her lips looked so lush and kissable that it was all he could do to not close the distance between them. And her voice was . . . was . . . her voice was speaking to him!
“. . . llo? Hello? Are you all right?” she asked, peering closer, a small frown on her face.
“Fine!” he shouted, causing the mare to jump back. He swallowed the drool that had been pooling in his mouth and reorganized his thoughts before responding, “I mean, I’m fine, thanks for asking.”
“Do I have something in my teeth?” she asked. She carefully swiped her tongue around inside her mouth and furrowed her brow.
“No, you’re fine too. Better than fine actually.” She paused and looked up at him, one eyebrow cocked. “I think you look lovely tonight,” he said.
“Really?” she asked.
The stallion nodded.
“Thank you,” she said, flashing him a slight smile and blushing lightly.
A low, rumbling growl came from the mare’s stomach and filled the room, causing her blush to intensify.
“. . . Would you like me to get you something?” he asked after the noise had died down.
She quickly nodded. “I didn’t really have time to eat lunch today; I’m still making up for losing those deliveries, but the good news is I’m almost done.”
“That’s good to hear.” The stallion smiled “The last part, at least,” he quickly amended. “Why don’t you have a seat?” He motioned over to the sole table.
“Thank you,” said the mare, desperately willing her blush to go away. She turned around and trotted to the table.
While her back was turned, the stallion quickly opened the door, glanced around conspiratorially, placed the closed sign on the handle, and shut the door. He breathed a sigh of relief and trotted back to the counter as the mare sat down, seeming to not have heard anything.
“What will it be tonight?” asked the stallion upon reaching the counter. “The Muffin, The Muffin, The Muffin, or perhaps, The Muffin?”
“I think I’ll have The Muffin,” giggled the mare, “with a side of The Muffin.”
“Coming right up,” he said, already opening the lock.
He sliced a fairly large piece of The Muffin with the knife and placed it on a plate, noting that the hazardously sized confection was already about one-third of the way gone. Dad’s not going to be happy, he thought, relocking the case and carrying the plate over to the mare after once again hiding The Muffin from sight. He set the plate in front of her and watched as she leaned in to smell the delicious scent emanating from The Muffin; her eyes closed and her lips curled into a smile as she breathed it in.
She ate at a moderate pace, doing her best to conserve the flavor, but too hungry to actually eat slowly. She moaned quietly and somewhat suggestively as she ate, putting certain thoughts in the stallion’s head that he did his best to dispel. Her eyes were still closed, and she gently fluttered her wings with each bite.
After she finished eating, each of her taste buds performed ritualistic suicide by riding the last crumbs of The Muffin down her throat. They were determined to taste as much of The Muffin as they could, and they would not be denied. Fortunately for the mare, her uvula put a stop to their childish behaviour and sent them back to where they belonged, firmly attached to her tongue.
Swallowing the last bite, she opened her eyes to find the stallion blushing lightly, pointedly looking anywhere but at her, and humming to himself. “Thank you,” she giggled, wondering exactly what he was up to.
“Hmm? Oh, you’re welcome,” he replied with a smile, finally looking back at her.
A few moments of awkward silence filled the room as each of the ponies wanted to say something but were unable to make it sound acceptable to the other in their heads.
“I should—” she started.
“Do you want—” he interrupted.
“Sorry,” they said in unison.
“You go first,” said the stallion as the mare giggled.
“I was just going to say that I should probably get going,” said the mare. “Now what were you going to say?” she asked.
“Nothing important,” he said.
“It must have been important if you were going to say it,” she insisted.
“No. It’s silly. Forget I said anything,” he protested.
“Tell me,” she stated, a bit of hardness in her voice.
“It’s fine,” he said, taking a step backward. “You’re right, you should go.”
She walked up to him and gave him a piercing stare. Then, she sat down directly in front of him. “Pweeeeesseee,” she insisted, fluttering her eyelashes and looking up at him through her mane. She pouted slightly and puckered her lips.
The stallion would have given her anything. Money, food, his house, his life—all were meaningless when faced with that look. So simply opening his mouth was accomplished before he had time to think. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to dance, but then I didn’t because it’s silly,” he let out in a rush.
“Dance?” she echoed.
The stallion nodded slowly, still partly transfixed.
“I . . . would love to,” she said slowly, beginning to blush once again. “But . . . I don’t really know how.” She looked down and scuffed the floorboards with her forehoof.
“Want me to teach you?” he asked, shaking his head slightly.
She didn’t say anything, but she nodded once, giving him his answer.
The stallion trotted his way over to the table and pushed it against the wall while grunting, and the chairs soon followed.
He walked into the back room and returned with a decent-sized record player. He set it on the counter and placed a large black disk on the central spike. He slid the square base forward slightly then gave the handle a few dozen cranks. Carefully and slowly, he lowered the needle until it touched the record. He angled the horn towards the mare then flipped the switch, starting machine. The record spun slowly, and the music began to play as the stallion reached the mare.
“Ready?” he asked as the soft, slow violin music filled the room.
She stood up and faced him with a bit of almost-unnoticeable wetness forming in her eyes. “Uh-huh,” she said, smiling brightly.
“All right, stand just like that,” he said, stepping closer. “And then I stand like this, right in front of you.”
“Okay . . .”
“Then you tilt your head to your left and put it on my shoulder while I do the same,” he said.
“Okay,” she said, following his lead.
“Now listen to the music for a moment.”
She angled her ears toward the record player and listened intently.
“Do you hear the beat?” he asked.
“Yeah, it goes one two three four, one two three four.”
The stallion nodded against her shoulder. “Good. Now the idea is to keep moving together; you know what I mean? So if I step right, you step left, and vica versa. I’m going to take one step right with each of my legs, one step forward with each of my legs, then one step left, and finally, one step back.”
“So then I go . . . left, back, right, forward?” she asked.
“That’s exactly right. All you have to do is follow my lead. We’ll start off slow until you get the hang of it, all right?”
The mare nodded against his shoulder.
“Ready . . . and . . . go.”
She immediately stepped forward into him and hit his ankle with with hoof.
“Ow.” He winced.
“Sorry.”
“That’s all right. Let’s try again. Ready? And . . . go.”
She immediately ran into him and hit his ankle with with hoof.
He bit back a yelp; she had hit him in exactly the same spot.
“Sorry, sorry,” she said, delicately rubbing his ankle. “I told you I’m clumsy.”
“It’s fine. One more try,” he said, gritting his teeth slightly as she continually hit his ankle, albeit gently. “Just do the same thing again and I’ll follow. Ready? And . . . go.” This time, he stepped backward. Nodding, she again stepped forward, following the path that he had originally set for himself. All he had to do was compensate by following the opposite path and starting halfway through the pattern.
“I’m doing it!” she cried happily.
“Congratulations,” he said as they completed rotation. “You can dance.”
They danced together for several more circuits, slowly gaining speed and confidence until they were keeping pace with the quiet music.
Slowly, tentatively, hesitantly, almost reluctantly, she picked up her right foreleg and wrapped it around his neck. He could feel her asking if it was okay through her warm coat. He responded by taking his own right foreleg and wrapping around her neck. Upon feeling his leg, she sighed and nuzzled her face into him, squeezing gently, but firmly, with her leg. The stallion responded in kind, eliciting another soft sigh.
Round and around they went. One two three four.
The violins made the perfect beat. One two three four.
There was nothing. One two three four.
Time had no meaning. One two three four.
Just a stallion. One two three four.
And a mare. One two three four.
Their soft breath in each other’s ears. One two three four.
The warmth of their coats again each other. One two three four.
The hard wood.
They both ran into the counter and tripped, the stallion going one way, the mare the other. The stallion smacked his head off the ground as he landed and groaned. A metal thud sounded as the clock fell onto the floor by the mare.
The stallion opened his eyes to see the mare already getting to her hooves. She picked up the clock and shrieked, “It’s midnight! I have work tomorrow! No, today!”
She tossed the clock back on the counter and sprinted for the door. She flung the door open and roughly shut it behind her, rattling the old panes.
The stallion groaned again and gently laid his throbbing head back against the floor.
The door opened again and the mare stuck her head in the doorway. “I had a great time,” she said softly, gently biting her lip. “I promise I’ll come by tomorrow. Wait for me, please?”
The stallion nodded and waved, but before he could say anything, she blew him a kiss and left. He closed his eyes and smiled, falling asleep immediately. He dreamt of the mare as he slept, and only the best of dreams were his on that night.
The record player spun quietly and slowed to a stop, the mechanism finally running out of power, the magical loop no longer able to keep the music going.