Know her

"Mrs. Clark," Ethan says it, almost taking a step back in disbelief.

The blonde woman tilts her head, her smile widening. "Close! Ms. Clark. Mrs. Clark was my mother." She giggles, the subtle laugh impossibly playful.

Ms. Clark. Yes, Ethan remembers that now. A small but important distinction a younger Ethan didn't always grasp. She was a single mother. Ethan vaguely recalled there being something about her being divorced, but the details were gathered in passing, and not meant for his ears.

"But please, Ethan. Ms. Clark is far too formal a name to call your neighbor. It's Layla."

Hearing her say his name stirs up more memories, but only half-formed ones from many summers past. He knew his woman, once, but vaguely, and mostly in passing. Yet the way she said his name... The feeling was weird. Good. But weird.

"So, Layla..." Ethan shifts gears, focusing on the pie in her hands. "What's with the pie?"

Scoffing, Layla rolls her eyes. "It's for you!" She holds it out, offering it. "To welcome you back to Green Valley!"

Ethan laughs, finally catching up with the gesture. Reaching out, he takes the pie, giving it a closer look over.

It smells delicious, and looks like it could keep him fed for days. Part of him wants to taste it then and there, but manners keep him in check. Speaking of, he looks up to offer his sincere thanks.

"Thank..." Ethan pauses, for a split second, breaking up his sentiment. "You..."

It was brief, but something was different. Her expression. Her gaze... The second he looked up it wasn't the smiling face looking at him now.

"You're very welcome, dear." Layla beams. "Well, I don't want to keep you. I'm sure you have lots to do! Be it sleep or otherwise!" She giggles, tilting her head to the side in an endearing way. "I would however like the pan back. Should I pick it up or...?"

Ethan processes the question, but can't settle on an answer, still a little foggy on exactly what house was hers.

"Well, if you don't return it in a few days, I'll just pop by and pick it up. I'm sure a strapping man like you will finish it all up soon." Taking a half step back, Layla turns slightly, lifting her wrist and offering a small finger wiggle. "Ta-ta! Don't be a stranger, neighbor!"

Watching her leave, Ethan can't help but notice the sway of her hips. The fact that somebody let a woman like that get away... Ethan shakes his head, closing the door.

Moving to the kitchen, Ethan can't help but chew on that split-second look. What was that? Setting the pie down on the counter, he tries to recapture the memory, it's somehow both burned into his brain yet vague and undefined. Sighing, Ethan takes a deep breath, lifting his gaze to the ceiling then dropping it to the floor.

It's only then he notices.

Pants tented, Ethan almost falls over when he notices his morning wood, clear as day despite the fabric. When did this happen? Was it from watching her walk away? It was a good wiggle, but no, Ethan realizes. This was from before.

The dream, broken and already forgotten. He's been flying full mast since the moment he woke up.

The look. She noticed.

Groaning, Ethan slumps in a nearby chair, embarrassment overwhelming him. What an awful re-introduction.

At least he has pie.