THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. ALL CHARACTERS ARE LIKEWISE FICTITIOUS, AND OVER THE AGE OF 18. ALL SEXUAL ACTS ARE CONSENSUAL.
ELLIE PT 1
She sat on the sand watching small waves fold in on themselves as the tide retreated. It was overcast and the gray hoodie covering her head kept her warm enough though she could feel her nose getting cold. She sat with her knees hugged to her chest, chin resting upon them. Thinking about not thinking. The distant noise from that morning's argument rather like the rhythmic slap of the water on the shore. Predictable, persistent, pointless. To her left the strip of boulders she'd climbed over, which seemed to her someone's idea of a jetty they'd given up on. Soon the low tide would expose the last rocks.
There was a house some thirty yards behind her and she heard a sliding door open and close but did not turn to look. In some moments a man came into her periphery but she did not turn to him nor he to her. He walked to the shore where the tide had left driftwood and bent to pick it up. When he turned back he angled toward her and she watched him approach. Lifted her chin from her knees.
Good morning.
Good morning, she answered.
I should tell you that you're trespassing. I don't really care but the houses out that way - he gestured to the distance behind him - are all private. Some of the neighbors get touchy about it. Best bet if you go that way is to stay at the water's edge.
Are you asking me to leave?
Not at all. Stay as long as you like. He turned to go. Thank you, she called.
He hadn't gone far when he turned back. I'm making breakfast if you're hungry. When she didn't answer he turned again toward the house. Tossed the driftwood into a side cellar. Then went inside.
The coffee had just finished brewing and he was cracking two eggs into a bowl when she tapped on the sliding door. She slid it open. Are you really offering breakfast, she asked. She was hungry.
Of course. Come in. Coffee just finished. He handed her a mug. Tell me you're not a decaf person.
I'm not.
Good. Help yourself. I'm Eric by the way. He reached into the fridge for two more eggs. And please tell me you're not vegan.
Not remotely.
Excellent.
I'm Ellie.
Pleasure.
She looked around at what she could see of his house. The room she'd just come through. You set the table for two, she said. Were you expecting I'd come up?
I always set it for two. One never knows. Pop the toast down?
I'm Keto.
He looked up at her.
Kidding.
At the table she asked whether he typically invited trespassers to breakfast. Not usually, he said.
You must get a few though.
Some. Usually they just keep walking and I don't care. Now and then some overnight road people.
What do you do about them?
I take them some food in the morning and wish them well on their day's journey. They get the message, usually.
She pondered that. But you didn't ask me to leave.
No. You were deep in thought and I wasn't about to interrupt.
She regarded him and changed the subject. This is good jam.
Thank you. I made it. Side hustle. They ate silently, looking at one another now and then. He held her eyes, bluegreen, aware of the swell of her chest beneath her hoodie. The way her dark hair hung over her breasts. As if sensing his awareness she straightened her shoulders. He held her gaze.
What do you do, she asked him.
This and that. I'm mostly retired.
You're young to be retired.
Got lucky with an IPO. Dodged the crash. Bought this place. I do consulting sometimes, some writing, technical or otherwise. Mostly writing. You?
Project Manager. Software. She took a bite of eggs. I can leave after breakfast, she said, mouth full.
He smiled. You don't have to. I told you. Stay as long as you like.
He washed and she dried and set the dishes and cups in the rack. I should go, she said.
Up to you. You're pleasant company.
She lightly chewed her lower lip. Show me around then?
He guided her back out the sliding door, allowing himself a glance at her ass. Lovely slope and swell. She wore her jeans well. From the deck he explained that the strip of boulders marked that side of his lot and where the properties became private, down to the waterline. They walked around to the cellar.
I keep my canning stuff and tools and firewood in there. You might have noticed the wood stove.
Mm hmm.
Around to the front where a small grove of trees shielded most of the house from view and the sound of the road. Through the front door, the small hardwood entryway, then back to the open kitchen. Short tour, he said.
Down that way, she asked, indicating a short hallway.
My bedroom, bath. And up there a loft where I work. There are stairs from my bedroom. More of a ladder really.
Wow. Cool.
They went back to the living area and stood quietly, she gazing around, he looking at her. I feel like you think like you need to entertain me. I really should let you go now.
Up to you.
She looked at him. You're a nice guy.
Thank you.
And if I may say - she paused - you hold my eyes better than most men.
He smiled. That's what a gentleman does.
Gentleman. Hmm. Thought you guys were extinct. Fossilized.
