Jennifer Colwell
“You’re leaving? Now?”
I stared at the angel in front of me, dread pooling in my stomach as she gathered her coat and purse. My best friend Nina had dragged me to this costume party, and now she was about to bail.
“I’m sorry, Tori.” She slid one arm into her coat, crushing a wing and knocking her halo askew. I guess there was a reason why angels didn’t wear layers. “The babysitter texted. Max is throwing up. He gorged himself on Skittles, and now he’s puking all the colors of the rainbow.”
I wrinkled my nose. “How magical.” But cleaning up technicolor vomit seemed preferable to staying at this party without my guardian angel. “Let me grab my bag.”
“No! You have to stay!” Her eyes flashed. “I promised Dylan you’d be here tonight.”
“But I don’t know Dylan.” As much as Nina talked him up, I cringed at the idea of a blind date. “Besides,” I added, twirling my pitchfork, “we’re supposed to be twinning tonight. My costume doesn’t make sense without you.”
She rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t make sense with me. We’re supposed to be an angel and a devil, not an angel and a deviled egg.”
I grinned, adjusted my horned headband, and admired the white and yellow blob of fabric pinned to my black t-shirt. “I took some creative license. I guess the yolk’s on me.”
She groaned. “This only proves my point. You and Dylan both have the same cheesy sense of humor. Just look for the guy telling dad jokes.”
“That’s helpful.”
“Trust me,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “He’s impossible to miss.”
“He’s attractive because of his quirky sense of humor?”
“He’s attractive in spite of his quirky sense of humor.” Nina’s phone buzzed again. She glanced at the screen and sighed. “The babysitter’s freaking out. I have to go. But you stay. Mingle. And keep an eye out for Dylan.”
“Fine,” I grumbled. I gave her an awkward hug around her crushed wings, then wandered over to the snack table.
I was loading a plate with enough Halloween-themed goodies to give Dracula diabetes when a slight tap landed on my shoulder. I jumped, almost dropping an artificially orange Oreo.
“Arrr! My apologies, lass. I jest be admirin’ yer booty.”
I narrowed my eyes at the grinning pirate. “My booty?”
He let out a hearty laugh. “I meant the snacks. But I’m sure an attractive devil-woman like yourself surely has a prize booty as well.”
I frowned. “I’m not a devil-woman. I’m a deviled egg.”
He squinted at my chest with the eye not covered by a patch. “Ah. I see.”
Surely this bawdy pirate wasn’t Dylan. But there was only one way to find out. “You know what they say,” I began with a shrug, “eggs marks the spot.”
The pirate’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you mean X marks the spot?”
“Um, yeah. X.” I took a deep breath and tried again. “Have you heard any good pirate jokes lately?”
He scratched his head with the tip of his hook. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Neither have ayeee!” I grinned and waited for his response. He just blinked his one good eye and tilted his head.
“Oh, look. Thar be a fresh case of grog over yonder. I’ll be takin’ me leave now … ” He headed off in the direction of the adult beverages, muttering, “That lass be a bit cracked.”
Although I appreciated the turn of phrase, it wasn’t enough to swash my buckles. I focused on the snacks again until I felt a large, yellow presence sidle up beside me.
“You must be a devil because I find you wickedly attractive.”
Biting back a groan, I glanced over to find a guy in a banana suit eying me. Despite the creepiness of the delivery, the pun itself wasn’t bad. “You have a certain a-peel yourself.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “What kind of appeal?”
“Um, a banana peel. It was a joke.”
His eyebrows dropped back into place. “Oh. Right.”
I tried again. “Do you know how many bananas it takes to change a light bulb?”
“If you need help around the house, then I’m the only banana you need.”
“Wrong!”
Startled, I turned and came face to face with a broad, striped chest. I raised my head and sucked in a breath as I took in this stranger’s square shoulders and chiseled jawline. A hint of a smile played at his lips, and his bright blue eyes sparkled with humor. This guy was black and white and hot all over.
He held up a yellow card. “Sorry, friend. It takes a whole bunch of bananas to change a light bulb.”
My face cracked into a smile.
“Who are you?” the banana asked.
“Wait. Let me get into character.” He slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses and brandished a red and white cane. “Ta-da!”
The banana laughed. “A referee who can’t see. That’s a good one.”
But he was more than just a referee who couldn’t see. Taking a deep breath, I extended my hand. “I’m Tori. You must be Dylan.”
As he enveloped my small hand in his much larger one, so much electricity ran through my arm that I worried my pitchfork had caught a stray outlet. Luckily, it was just a hormonal power surge, because the wattage of his smile didn’t dim a bit.
“I’m Gary,” the banana piped in.
“He was just about to split,” I said.
Gary blinked, then quietly slipped away. He might not have been good with jokes, but at least he could take a hint.
“Tori,” Dylan said. “The deviled egg—of course. You’re right, I’m Dylan. Did the banana joke give me away?”
“The banana joke was good,” I admitted. “But I knew as soon as I saw your costume.”
He raised an eyebrow, daring me to deliver the punch line.
“You’re my blind date!”
Spark Flash Fiction 