“I liked that one the best of all,” he says of her swimsuit, slowly raising an eyebrow above the rim of his sun-glinted shades.
She smiles, and glides catlike onto the beach towel beside him. She’d bought the two-piece showstopper only a few days before they’d left for St John and the beach vacation of which they always had dreamed. “Glad you approve,” she says with playful understatement.
For a few silent moments their oiled fingers gently intertwine as they watch a Brown Pelican soar above and then suddenly plunge-dive for its supper. It was the only living creature to notice them on their newly deserted beach, the sun descending ever more quickly against the azure blue horizon.
He slowly caresses her waist and inhales the rich Caribbean sea air. “We’re here,” he whispers. “Just us.”
She squeezes his hand. Tears form. The moment has made words unnecessary, if not impossible. “Romantic getaways” was merely search term all those months ago–now their own private reality. A sensual locale to seal their love and reignite their passion.
“I think we’re the only ones left on the beach,” he said with a glint in his eye. “Shall we head for our romantic little villa?”
This time it was her turn to raise an eyebrow over her sunglasses as she slowly began to transform her showstopping two-piece swimsuit into a lesser sum total.
“Now this … is a vacation,” he murmurs.
Blood Red Sun at Mooncottage
