Darla and Troy
Troy’s head was unusual. Some might say it was cynocephalous.
But Darla liked dogs.
He had a bad bark, she had been warned. But she was determined.
Troy is not obedient, or even house-trained, someone warned her. Someone not so nice.
Darla never cared for a compliant, stepford man, or a well-mannered cat.
So she walked into his booth at the diner and sat down across from him.
“I believe I will have a piece of rhubarb pie,” she told him.
Troy showed his teeth and growled.
“You may have a piece also, my treat,” she added. “Rhubarb or lemon meringue?”
She saw a glimmer of a wisp of a glint of hope in his amber eyes, and she smiled.
Recognizing his soul.
“I am not looking for a date,” he told her.
“Good,” she replied. “Because I do not date either. I am just interested in you.”
No one had been interested in him for a long time. He took another look at her green eyes.
They reminded him of his mother’s eyes; his mother had died when he was five.
His mouth almost went up on one end, but he caught it and made it straight.
But not before she noticed.
Troy came back to the diner more frequently after that, and the pretty waitress sat with him.
They became friends, and she led him quite happily into the best part of his life.
The part she understood better than most. She had not had a family for a really long time.
Darla knew what to do with a stray; she took this one home and loved him. Best marriage ever.
And no, neither of them ever dated again.
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