They rounded the corner of the old barn, hands clasped tightly together and giggling. A crisp autumn breeze blew Russell’s hair into his eyes, but he barely noticed. His gaze was on Mirabelle, the daughter of the farmer upon whose land they stood. Pausing, he studied the delicate lines of her face, drinking in her young beauty. In return, she smiled coyly at him and squeezed his hand. Hearts raced in anticipation of their impending carnal activities.
Many minutes later, as Russell pulled up his suspenders, he decided it was time. He’d wanted to ask her before their romp in the hay, as he felt that a post-coitus proposal would be in bad taste, but Mirabelle had insisted on leading him to their favorite getaway spot before he could blurt out his carefully rehearsed speech.
“It’s now or never,” he thought, steeling himself.
Reaching into his pocket he withdrew the precious object.
“Mirabelle,” he said, kneeling before her.
“You’ve made me the happiest man in the whole county these past six months. And I… I just can’t imagine living without you.”
He extended his hand offering her the small box.
Mirabelle smiled graciously.
“Oh Jonathan, how sweet!” she purred in her well practiced manor.
“Jonathan?” exclaimed Russell angrily. “My name is Russell!”
“Russell!” thought Mirabelle quickly. Of course… today was Tuesday.
[This is my entry into the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge, hosted by Alastair Forbes. Write a short story of 200 words or less from the photo prompt provided. I went a bit over the limit this week.]