Chapter Text
Blushing, Bridget mumbled: “Sorry, I must be mistaken.” She found herself making herself as small as possible in her chair whilst wondering whether there was anything she could do to make the ground swallow her whole. It couldn't be completely physically impossible, could it? Suddenly Franky chuckled. Taking the seat next to her, she commented: “Busy Bee Blossoms, right? I've still got your umbrella in the boot of my car.” Behind them, an older gentleman shushed loudly. Franky rolled her eyes and slouched back into the plush material of the chair, her left leg pressing against Bridget's right. The blonde wasn't sure whether she was glad or regretting that she had chosen to forego a pair of stockings tonight, but in any case the physical contact was shooting butterflies through her nerves, settling in her lower abdomen as a soft fluttering sensation. Leaning over, Franky whispered: “A patron of the arts?” Bridget smiled.
“Something like that.”
“Mysterious. I like it.” Another annoyed huff followed from the man seated behind them. Both women rolled their eyes. While Bridget tried to concentrate on the stage again, Franky commented: “It's not the fucking Opera House hey.”
The man shushed her again.
Groaning, Franky got up and announced: “Listen mate, if you can't handle two lesbians whispering, we'll head out of here and go make out in the parking lot so you can enjoy your precious play.” Nodding towards the stage, she added: “Sorry for all the ruckus.” She grabbed Bridget's hand and, ignoring her soft protests, pulled her out of her seat and out of the building.
Giggling loudly, the brunette settled against a wall, leaving the blonde standing between her chest and the bricks.
“I am so sorry!” she exclaimed. “God he was annoying.” Bridget let out a whole-hearted laugh.
“The scene you just caused may have outshone the actual play.” As she made her statemenf, she let her hands slide along the lapels of Franky's blazer.
“Now what?” Franky wondered out loud. Smirking, Bridget responded: “Well, you did promise him we'd be doing something here...though I live nearby, and that might be more comfortable, as teenagery as this plan sounds.”
“I don't even know your name,” Franky admitted.
“Bridget. It's Bridget.”
Gently pressing her lips against Bridget's, Franky whispered: “Lead the way, flower girl.”
~Fin.