Lilly Jean hefted a box onto the truck. She rooted around in her bra until she found a handkerchief which she used to mop her forehead. “Hell's bells, it's hot.”
Spank grinned. “I thought ladies weren't supposed to perspire.”
“Ladies ain't supposed to be lifting all this shit, Spank. Whatever happened to chivalry?”
“You're not going to let me lift a box for you. You're far too independent.”
“You sayin' I ain't a lady?” Lilly Jean grabbed another box and swung it into the truck. “I swear I can move two boxes to your one.”
“I'm an old man, Lilly Jean.”
“Fifty-eight is far from old. Age is in your cranium.” Lilly Jean pointed to her head. She wondered about her hair: Was it holding up in this heat? “Leastways that's what I've always believed,” she finished pulling her cell phone from her pocket and pretending to check for texts while she quickly scanned her hair and her nose while she was at it. If she had a boogie when Spank proposed, she would just die.
“My cranium is telling me I'm old.” Spank set his box onto the truck and slid it back. “What are we doing, Lilly Jean?”
“We're loading this here truck, Spank.”
“But why?” He rubbed the small of his back. “Why are we putting ourselves through all this?”
“Pshaw, Spank. You're just tired is all.” She smiled. “Starting a restaurant is a bitch.”
“I wish...” Spank said, looking onto the street that took Bitsy out of town two weeks ago.
“Things can't stay the same all the time, Spank.”
“What are you doing with an old man like me, Lilly Jean? You could have any man in Medford.”
“I don't want any man, Spank.” She smiled and tossed another box onto the truck. “I want you.” And she waited for Spank to pull an engagement ring from his pocket.
He turned and grabbed another box.
This was written for this week's Trifecta Writing Challenge. The word was "bitch."