Summery Flash Fiction - Romance Writers Weekly - #lovechatwrite

I’ve mostly been editing and revising for months, so it’s about time I got back into writing! This week, we’ve been challenged to write a piece of flash fiction including the words swimsuit, lemonade, and hammock. So many ideas came to mind. Here’s what I settled on.
*** 

I eyed the hammock. It swung innocently in the shade of the birch trees from which it hung. But I knew better. I knew it was waiting my attempt to board it, when it would immediately pitch me to the ground in a humiliated heap.

I’d come to this lakeside resort hoping to take my mind off…well, things. If I tell you about them, then I’m thinking about them, and I promised myself I wouldn’t do that, so I can’t. Does that make sense?

Suffice it to say, it would take more than the excellent lemonade served up at the lodge to make me forget what was waiting for me when I returned home in a week. Which was why I’d snuck a slug of gin into the sunny yellow concoction.

Deciding not to risk the hammock trap, I wandered toward the beach and found an empty Muskoka chair. Its wide flat arm made an excellent rest for the large plastic tumbler of enhanced lemonade and the slanted back was a comfortable rest for my head.

Contemplating the pale blue sky above made it easier to ignore everyone surrounding my solitary being. Cheerfully chattering family groups, snuggling couples, and sun-bathing teenagers only confirmed my earlier conclusion that I was the only single person there.

Which was fine. I’d come partly to get used to being alone. I didn’t begrudge anyone their family and friends. It gave me an odd sort of pathetic hope that I’d have the same some day.

Lifting my head, I sipped my lemonade, determined to enjoy the activity in front of me even if I wasn’t a part of it. A little girl building a sandcastle made me grin, and two boys burying their father in sand made me shudder. How gritty must that feel?

Then I saw him. At first, he was just a sleek dark head swimming toward shore. Long arms swept up and down, head turning to the side every few strokes. For someone like me who could barely manage a dogpaddle, his apparent skill was alluring.

He stopped swimming several metres from shore, where the water was waist height. The broad shoulders weren’t a surprise, not after the athleticism I’d observed. The bright-red blotch that covered most of his chest and stretched over one shoulder was, though. Had he been burned? Injured in a car accident? The scar fascinated me and I pulled my gaze away guiltily.

Several of the other swimmers had noticed, as well. Most were subtle about sneaking glances, but a teenage girl gasped and pointed. Anger flared on the man’s behalf. We were all scarred in some ways. His was just on the outside.

He ignored the attention and continued out of the water. He wore a tight black swimsuit that reached almost to his knees. It reminded me of the ones worn by competitors in the Olympics and reinforced my impression that he was more than a recreational swimmer.

I forced myself to look anywhere but him. Still, I was aware he was heading directly toward me. Which was when I noticed the navy-blue striped towel folded neatly on the chair a few feet from mine.

Yup. I was right. He strode directly to the towel and used it to wipe off the water beading his chest and legs before sitting in the wooden seat.

No, I wasn’t staring. Yes, I couldn’t help but be aware of his actions. Mouth dry from something other than the summer sun, I reached from my lemonade glass--
--and knocked right into his lap.
***

What do you think happened next? Is this a meet-cute you’d want to read more about? Let me know in the comments and then head over to PG Forte and read what she wrote!

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