A Meeting at the Seaside

She was content with herself this evening; she had woken just before sunrise, sipped her coffee on the upper deck as the sunlight stretched out it’s first rays to touch the water, and then settled down on in a beach chair and written more pages in one morning than she had been able to in all the previous year. She had settled into the bungalow this afternoon, unpacking and hiding her suitcases out of sight as if to try to convince herself that this was her own home and that she would not have to leave it in a week’s time. She hadn’t really had a thought to food except for some fruit and a bit of sharp cheddar; it was amazing not to be required to prepare food for others. She realized that it was likely she wouldn’t need half of the food budget that she had planned; it seemed that her body didn’t require much – something she couldn’t have known until now. This had been a day of epic peace and she felt more like someone she could call herself than ever she had in her life. Now, she sat on a low ledge of sand created by the gentle waves, her feet stretched out into those waves enjoying the caress of the living ocean. The sun was moving ever closer to the horizon, and she was filled with the simple delight of existing alone without the pressure of being expected to be someone in particular or do anything for any reason other than that she wished to do so. It was probably due to this overwhelmingly orgasmic peace that she noted a trickle of fore-warning. It was so quiet that she might have missed it had she not been sitting on this beach, her eyes closed, and her senses unfurled and flung out about her in every direction. It was just a thread of energy at first, and then a simple presence. She knew he was looking at her before she opened her eyes, and knew it was him before he had come clearly into view. She panicked for a moment before remembering why she was here and assuring herself that because of who he was he would not be a lasting threat to her peace or intent here. She watched him approach obliquely, wondering how long it would take him to realize that it was her. They hadn’t seen each other in many years. He still had the same walk; she could see that clearly enough. There it was, the change in his gait she had expected; he had made his decision to approach her. As she waited for him to come close enough to speak to without shouting to be heard over the waves, she removed the hair stick that held up her braided hair and unbound it, combing through the long silver waves with her fingers. Half was silver by art and half by age, and it shone brightly and was as soft as it had ever been. She slipped the stick in to the pocket of her over sized tropical print shirt and giggled to herself a bit; she hadn’t been expecting anyone to be so adventurous as to walk down to this deserted area of beach and the shirt was all she was wearing. Some men would not have even noticed, she thought, a fleeting sadness twisting the corner of her mouth slightly; however, he most certainly would.
“The sun has well and truly set. Would you like to come inside? I am a bit wet and I really don’t want to get cold.” as she said this she turned her eyes up, for the first time, to look directly into his.
He was caught up for a moment in the way her eyes seemed to steal the fires from the twilight sky and his response was delayed for an awkward moment. “How could I possibly refuse such an offer when it is laced so heavily with innuendo?” Once his mouth had engaged, the line had come off flawlessly, his smile mocking and mirthful.
She affected a shocked countenance and gasped dramatically, “I would never!” then rose all too fluidly for a woman over forty, turned, and made her way up the beach to the little bungalow. He followed a short distance after her, far enough behind to easily admire her grace even in the deep, loose sand, and the line of muscle in her shapely though petite legs. He remembered that body; and it had not changed for the worse over the years.