Thanks to @nattah-gudgrrl for this idea!
“I’m stuffed,” Rick said, rubbing his palm over his flat stomach, and pushing it outward for effect. They stepped out of the cozy bar and grill into the brisk, January air, and he stood in front of Michonne to block the wind that was whipping specks of snow around like confetti, as she fastened her coat.
“Me too,” she said, letting her eyes roll back to exaggerate her sated state. “That was amazing.”
“What do you want to do now? The night’s still young.”
“Let’s walk off that meal,” she said, slipping her arm through his and pressing against his side for warmth. “We can window shop, really do the tourist thing.”
They started down the cobblestone sidewalk, no particular destination in mind, and Rick allowed himself to be led from jewelry store, to antique shop, to bakery; rows of storefronts still decked out cheerily for the recently passed holiday. She pointed out numerous treasures, and he pretended to be interested, all while his gaze fixated on the way the cold brought a rosy tint to her dusky cheeks and nose, and her brown eyes gleamed with contentment. They walked until the winter sun began to prepare for its evening rest, dimming the light and pulling up a blanket of horizon to retire behind. Rick noted the neighborhood was getting less handsome as the sky became more murky, and he began to think better of their self-guided tour.
“Let’s go back to the hotel,” he said, leaning in to run the chilled tip of his nose against her ear as he spoke.
She smiled, about to agree to his proposition when something caught her eye. “Look!” She pointed to a sidewalk sign with a woman’s name written in scrolling cursive on the chalkboard finish, and a hand drawn image of a crystal ball. “A fortune teller!”
“Michonne…” Rick groaned, tightening his arm around hers and planting his feet to keep her from rushing toward it.
“Oh, please!” she begged, holding in a chuckle at his expense. This was exactly the type of thing he would hate on principle, but it could be fun. “Come on. She can tell us what the new year has in store.” She batted her eyelashes at him and he was useless to resist.
Rick hung his head in defeat, and followed her for a few more steps until they stood before a purple, velvet curtain where a door should have been, a small windchime hanging in front of it, in lieu of a doorbell. Michonne looked at Rick and shrugged, lifting her gloved fingers to brush them across the metal rods, making them ring. As if beckoned by a Siren’s song, a dark haired women appeared, wearing flowing robes and gold bangles around her wrist that jingled as she walked. She pushed aside the curtain, squinting as if they had woken her from a nap.
“Welcome,” the woman said, in a thick Eastern European accent. “You have come for me to read your good fortune?”
“Of course,” Michonne answered, with a beaming smile.
“How much is it?” Rick asked, with considerably less enthusiasm. Michonne nudged him in the ribs with a soft elbow and smiled at the woman.
“It is thirty for your reading,” she said, unmoved by his attitude. “Well worth it, I assure you.”