andhiswife: (smile - appreciative)
Greta had given herself plenty of time. She'd needed it. There was a lot to read about modern-day dog ownership, and plenty of supplies to acquire. On top of that, she'd wanted to give her enthusiasm time to fade, if it was going to. The idea of getting a dog had struck suddenly enough to qualify as a whim. She needed to be certain that she wanted a dog for its own sake, and not just because she was desperate for something to do.

But her research hadn't put her off, and her enthusiasm hadn't waned. She staggered her supply runs, giving herself ample time to reconsider. But, two weeks after she first started seriously thinking about it, she finds herself with everything a dog might require. (Except for a bed. The necessity of that seems questionable, and she wouldn't know what size to get until she chose a dog, anyway.)

There's really no need to put it off any longer.

She calls Demelza, intending to suggest they find a time over the next few days, but she isn't surprised when her friend insists that they can make today work, and she doesn't argue. Within the hour, Demelza's cheerfully leading her towards one of Darrow's animal shelters.

"Thank you for this," Greta says for the nth time, her arm linked with her friend's and a long-absent bounce in her step. "It'll be good to have a second opinion."
andhiswife: (smile - pensive)
This, Greta thinks, is probably overdue. Jordan might not be Saoirse's age, but she's about her size, and Greta's fairly certain they'll get on. She's a little less certain about Marvin and Cu. The sheepdog has excellent manners, but there's no getting around the size disparity between him and the little terrier, and Marvin might not like it. Then again, Marvin also might not even show. She'd told Sam that Cu would be here, figuring he'd know best whether his own dog would actually enjoy tagging along.

She's also not entirely certain about the beach as a meeting place. Saoirse loves it, of course, which might be part of the problem. Even without any sign of her coat, Greta can't quite shake the fear that the seals will end up calling her into the water. It's probably paranoid, and even if it isn't, she's heard enough stories about selkies to know she doesn't want to be that person -- the one who so fears losing them that they do something awful just to keep them a little longer. But she's grown desperately fond of the girl, despite knowing what she is, and it's hard not to dread what seems like an inevitable departure.

Not that it'll be today or anything. Jordan and Sam will be distracting enough that Saoirse won't even be tempted to look too long at the waterline, probably.

She's rather looking forward to seeing them, with or without Marvin in tow. They'd checked in during the attack of all those awful little toys, so she'd known they were all right (and vice versa). But it's still reassuring to actually see them, happy and in one piece. If she's being entirely honest with herself, part of the reason she arranged this playdate is so she'd have an excuse to spend time with them without seeming... fretful. Or needy. Or other things she generally isn't.

The private insistence that this isn't all about her might be what prompts her to look down at Saoirse and ask, "Are you excited to meet Sam and Jordan?" They've only just arrived at the beach, and she hasn't spotted the pair yet, but she expects they'll find them soon enough.
andhiswife: (smile - pensive)
One unexpected side effect of Greta's visit with Biffy yesterday - and the initially mortifying but subsequently reassuring realization that she'd got the wrong end of the stick - is that it's made today's visit with Sam and Jordan less daunting. At first, it had been hard to convince herself that she wasn't imposing, what with the terms mostly being dictated by a three-year-old that she and Sam were both inclined to humor. Now, after the humbling reminder that sometimes she reads too much into things and frets over nothing and embarrasses herself, it's easier to just take it all at face value. All of them were looking at a more dismal holiday than they'd anticipated, so they're spending it together to make it a bit more cheery for everyone. Simple as that.

With a mind toward keeping the girl entertained (and reckoning that sorting out the day's activities shouldn't fall on Sam's shoulders, or be driven solely by the whims of a toddler who might get overwhelmed or frustrated), she'd brought along all the necessary ingredients and materials for making gingerbread men. She'd tested the recipe in her own oven, and was confident Sam's wouldn't be so different. And because it was Christmas, and because she wanted to leave her hosts with a more permanent gift than food, and because she liked having the excuse to experiment with some of the stranger yarns this world holds, she'd knit them a pair of hats. They didn't match perfectly - Sam's was mostly blue that faded into white around the brim, and she'd inverted the colors for Jordan's - but they clearly went together, and she thought the blue rather suited them.

The hats seem to go over well, but it's the baking that really captures Jordan's attention. They end up making a fantastic mess in Sam's kitchen, the girl stirring the dough with more gusto than finesse. It ends up being too tough for a three-year-old's arms to handle, but when Greta catches Sam watching a bit wistfully (she knows that look; she's usually the one trying to hide it), she makes a playfully casual remark about how people who plan on eating the gingerbread really ought to help make it, which is all it takes to rope him into the proceedings. It goes more smoothly with his help, though by the time the cookies are in the oven, all three of them have a rather liberal dispersal of flour about their persons.

Somewhere between cooling the cookies and icing them, Jordan ends up sprawled on the couch in an abrupt but unsurprising nap. Greta watches her for a moment or two with a fond smile, then turns to look over the kitchen, her smile turning considerably more sheepish. They've really done a number on the place. There's even a splotch of flour on the poor dog.

"I suppose we ought to do something about this, as long as she's asleep," she says, dropping into a crouch and coaxing Marvin over so she can wipe him off with a corner of her apron, giggling quietly.
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