Oz walked up to the doorstep, knocking on it confidently. He removed the hat from his head and held it close to his chest. Already he had a wide mischievous grin, though he was not sure what the woman who texted him looked like. Though it was shallow, he was hoping she was attractive, or at least decent. He himself was a marvel of modern science.
Dark brown hair that he for once hadn’t used product in and it was tousled and disorganized. Brown eyes that women had gotten lost in on more than one occasion, and just the perfect smile to make a woman fawn over him for ages. Perhaps it was only him who had this opinion, but no one argued except for men.
Oz felt his chest and torso down with one hand, smoothing the coat of his suit and repeating the action with his vest. He then waited, bouncing on his toes in anticipation and letting his eyes wander to the unfamiliar setting.
Summer had all but given up for the night, just finishing up the last chapter, when the knock came at the door. Unwinding herself from the couch, she opened the door, a dark-eared furry face peering around her ankles. Copper-red hair spilled over her shoulders in loose ripples to her knees, in contrast to her green eyes. Pale blue velveteen hugged her torso in a tank top; a sage green skirt swirled around her knees.
“You must be Oz.” She smiled, one bare foot blocking the cat’s egress. Deliberately, she looked him up and down, and the smile deepened. “Well, when I fat-finger a number, I don’t do it by halves, do I?” One hand held out, she beckoned. “Come in.”
