Page 46 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls

Celene blinked, eyes roaming skyward before getting to her screen again. Agonizing Skye all over again, she muttered, “Not necessarily. Tormenting through foreplay is the fun part, but I love it when women can’t wait any longer.”

Skye’s deep imagination could run laps around anything in this erotica with the longish name. Blazing despite the tree’s shade, she regretted her long sleeves and choices, spending the rest of their time pretending to read.

12

Skye – 11:45 am

One sister, two brothers, right?

Celene – 11:46 am

Correct. Your older brother is Cosmo.

Skye – 11:50 am

Yes. Lol all three of our celestial names.

Celene – 11:51 am

We sound like treehuggers’ children.

Skye – 11:55 am

That’s kind of true for me...

Celene parked on a street outside an Amish farm stand, a seven-minute walk from the Toast Festival grounds. Vehicles packed every lot, as well as grassy fields where they’d surely be trapped if they wanted to leave early.

She approached methodically in her point-toe ankle boots, as she’d left her car on an incline, tipping around rocks and smalldivots in the land. Nearby, a small olive and yellow snake deftly darted behind a Range Rover’s tire, and she prayed none of its relatives made their way to her car.

Celene – 12:12 pm

Are yellow-striped snakes venomous?

Skye – 12:15 pm

It’s probably a garter. Mildly venomous, not deadly.

Did you see one?

Groups of locals and tourists alike journeyed to the giant ‘Toast Festival’ sign erected around a hundred booths, according to the official website. She could smell the bread already.

Celene – 12:16 pm

I did, unfortunately. Where will I find you?

Skye – 12:20 pm

Luce’s booth. We’re in the artisan section. You should grab a map.

The closer Celene got, the louder the family-friendly pop music and the stronger the aroma of baking sourdough, along with a waft of fried cheese. A hand-painted sign bearing smiling 1930s-style peanut and wheat stalk characters warned visitors of allergy risks.

‘Check all the ingredients,’the ecstatic peanut’s speech bubble read, pointing a gloved hand.

‘Cuz we can kill!’the wheat stalk finished, clicking its heels midair.

Laughing, Celene took a photo and sent it straight to Nadine. Today should be entertaining.

After paying her donation-based entry, aLet Them Eat Toasttee-wearing lady as merry as the killer allergens tendered a colorful printed map, with two strips of tan tickets.