Ocean City RP

 "Wait a minute."

Fiona does a double-take and looks out her window in her sweet, cozy trailer, which of course shakes ever so slightly.

She stares into space. Lately, she's been talking to herself. A lot. She squints. It is almost dark, but plenty of festive lights about from the other trailers at the complex, and she can see who it is. And he didn't stop.

Fiona is barely dressed in her old tank and sleep pants. She slides into her shower shoes and flings the door open and goes out into the nights where the crickets sing and the fire flies blink.

There's a towel thrown over his shoulder and he's carrying a shower caddy. He's in his shower slippers. Of course, she follows down the trail behind him. She suddenly stops, hugs herself hard. There's a place to shower here at the complex? And bathrooms too? Fiona didn't know.

She tilts her head to the side and then yells, "Hey, you!"

He practically jumps. Yeah, she knew it was Ezra. He's an inch or two shorter than she is. He has always been a baby brother she never had. Finally, he turns, and yes, for about thirty seconds, she thinks she might be talking to a stranger, but it's him. His shirt is unbuttoned, and he's in his gym shorts.  It makes her want to laugh, but she's not sure why. She does her best not to expose her thoughts about thinking he is sexy. She feels slightly dizzy, but tells herself to snap out of it.

"What are you doing here?" She gives him the eye. Of course, he explains he simply needs a shower. His bathroom doesn't work in the van.

"You gotta van?" She asks as he comes closer. Obviously, she is not going to move closer.

"Technically, it's my grandmother's," Ezra shrugs. 

Fiona nods. Yet, her stomach is loud. It grumbles suddenly, as if it remembers that one of them knows how to cook. And it isn't Fiona.

Before he can walk away, she asks a ton of questions about how long he has been here. Why here? Why? It has to be because of her. It has to be. At least in Fiona's head.

"Well," before he can explain much, she demands that he make her nachos.

"Why?" Now he's not budging. Yes, they were once co-workers at the library. He is still there. She is not. She was let go. 

"I'm sick of ice cream." Her nose practically scrunches at the thought of a sundae or even one scoop of Neopolitan from the place she works on the boardwalk. 

Finally, she gives in. He can take a shower at her place. After he makes her nachos.