So, I haven’t posted anything in awhile. I need a kick in the right direction. So, to help me get excited and interested in writing again, I’ve ordered myself a Writeable (http://humanwrit.es/the-writable/). They start shipping in July… So here’s to practice-practice-practice, and getting the wheel turning…Again.
Nancy found him a week or two later. He was sitting outside a little deli, elbow deep in a gourmet sandwich.
She sat down opposite him. He looked up and swallowed the last bits of bread and cheese. “You found me,” he grinned.
“I said I would.” She leaned back in her seat and surveyed him as he continued to make his way through his lunch.
The sun was hot on her back, a pair of large sunglasses covered her eyes and her dark hair was pulled back into a messy pony. Despite the simplicity she still looked sleek, well put together, like she had spent some time trying to find an outfit that looked both carefree and thrown-on, but also classy.
He grinned. She’d probably spent ages looking for just the thing.
She pulled her glasses off and gave him a look. He gulped. He must have looked guilty because she laughed, a low tinkle mingling with the clink of knives and forks and the hum of restaurant chatter.
Nancy ordered a glass of wine and sat talking to Crispin. She liked his animation, his easy smile. He made her feel like she wasn’t a wife who spent her evenings waiting for a husband who never called or came home. She felt real again, sitting so close to someone who seemed to care about the fact she did volunteer work, or that she was lonely and alone.
Sometimes she could feel every atom in her body wanting to reach for him. The alcohol gave her the courage last time, but she didn’t want this next time to be a repeat. She wanted it clear in her mind, without the numb feeling of too much to drink.
When they got up and left the deli, their arms brushed and she tried hard not to close her eyes and try it again. They walked aimlessly, feeling the slow buzz of his skin close hers.
Even though their mouths moved, her mind was elsewhere. She was squeezing his fingers, undressing him, biting his lip.
Crispin stopped and turned to her. They had reached a cul-de-sac. She took a deep breath and moved closer, into his space, against his chest, her fingers finding his and the hot sun beating down on them. It was like he was holding his breath – his chest was still, hard, until he let that breath go, and he melted against her, setting her on fire.