The sea always calms me. It's a quiet sort of companionship, predictable, endless, just out of reach. I sat back in the deep cushions of my garden lounger, one hand curled around the stem of a wine glass, the other lazily stroking the silky throw draped over my legs. The late afternoon sun had started to slide west, washing everything in gold, from the tops of the dune grass to the pale stone of my terrace.
The breeze tugged at the hem of my linen dress, brushing cool air over my tanned thighs. I shifted slightly, crossing my legs in the way I knew drew the eye, not that there was anyone here to see. At forty-three, I'd kept my figure well: slim, but soft in the right places, curves that came from years of Pilates and a little surgical enhancement, good wine, and not giving a damn what anyone thought. My hair, still long and blonde, was loosely tied back, though a few strands danced around my face. Blue eyes behind dark sunglasses. Bare feet resting on a sun-warmed rug. This was my version of peace
From here, I could see everything. My garden rolled out in wide, manicured layers, lavender bushes, polished slate paths, and whitewashed fencing that ended in a gate opening straight onto the beach. Beyond that, the tide was out, leaving behind a gleaming stretch of wet sand and the occasional gleam of broken shells. A few gulls drifted overhead. Otherwise, stillness.
I liked it that way. Silence has been good to me over the years.
I took a slow sip of the Sancerre and let it linger on my tongue, then closed my eyes behind my sunglasses. Forty-three, I reminded myself. Forty-three, successful, alone. Though I never called it that. Solitude suited me. There's a difference between being alone and being lonely. At least, that's what I'd always told myself.
And then I heard them.
Voices, low, laughing, male, cut through the hush. Not close, but not far either. I adjusted my sunglasses and looked toward the beach. Two figures had appeared on the sand, shirtless and barefoot, kicking a football between them with a casual grace that came from youth and ease, bodies that knew how to move.
They were handsome, both of them. Athletic, tall. One had short-cropped hair and broad shoulders, the other wore a snapback backwards and walked with a cocky, bouncing rhythm. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I could hear the laughter. It was deep and unguarded, the kind that makes you smile without realizing.
I tilted my head and watched, trying not to be obvious. They were just two strangers on a public beach. Boys, really. No, men. Young, yes, but very much men. My glass trembled slightly as I set it down on the side table.
I always enjoyed watching people. Not like this though. Not with heat curling low in my stomach.
Maybe it was boredom. Or curiosity. Or something older, deeper. Some need I hadn't quite named yet. Not loneliness, exactly. More like hunger. For what, I wasn't entirely sure. Connection? Attention? Or maybe just the delicious thrill of knowing someone might look at me the way they used to.
They hadn't even noticed me. Not yet.
But I watched them anyway, from the safety of my garden, my kingdom. And for the first time in a while, I wondered what it might feel like to be seen. Really seen.
The ball came out of nowhere, an awkward bounce that bouncing over the gate at the bottom of my garden. It thudded gently to a stop against one of the slate path stones, just a few metres from where I sat.
I looked down over the rim of my sunglasses, amused. A moment later, one of the men jogged up to the gate. The one in the backwards cap. Deej, though I didn't know his name yet.
"Sorry!" he called, his voice bright and a little breathless. "Bit of a wild shot."
He stood just outside the gate, tall and loose-limbed, his chest gleaming with sweat and sea air. His grin was unapologetic. Confident in that way only someone in their twenties can be. Completely at ease in their own skin.
I set down my wine glass. "That's quite an aim," I said, staying seated.
He laughed, running a hand over his head as if considering whether to risk stepping onto my property. "Mind if I grab it?"
I considered teasing him, asking what he'd offer in return, but I didn't. Instead, I nodded, rising slowly from my lounger and walking toward the gate.
"You're lucky I wasn't in the middle of a yoga session," I said as I approached.
"Would've been a hell of a distraction," he replied with a wink, eyes dropping, just for a moment to the curve of my legs as they emerged from the slit in my dress.
I unlocked the gate with a smooth twist of the latch and opened it just wide enough for him to step through.
Up close, he smelled like sunshine and salt and warm skin. He was younger than I'd thought but not boyish. His eyes were sharp, playful. Curious.
Behind him, the other man, Anton, I'd come to learn, stood back on the sand, one hand resting on his hip, the other shielding his eyes as he looked toward us. He didn't smile, but he didn't look away either.
Deej picked up the ball, spinning it in his hands. "Nice place you've got here."
"Thanks," I said. "It's quiet. Usually."
He nodded, clearly wanting to linger. "I'm Deej, by the way."
I smiled. "Tracy."
A beat passed just long enough for something unspoken to pulse in the air between us.
"Well," he said, stepping back toward the gate, "I'll let you get back to... whatever glamorous thing you were doing."
I gave him a slow, amused look. "Sitting in the sun and day drinking?"
"Sounds glamorous to me."
He jogged off with a final grin, vaulting lightly over the short garden fence instead of opening the gate again. Show-off.
I stayed where I was for a moment, fingers brushing the warm metal latch, watching them from behind my sunglasses as they moved down the beach. Deej still laughing. Anton still silent.
They didn't look back.
But they would.
I returned to my lounger, though the cushion didn't feel quite as comfortable as it had ten minutes ago. My skin was warmer. Or maybe it was something deeper.
I told myself it was nothing, just a bit of banter, a stranger retrieving a ball. But my pulse had quickened, and I could still feel the heat of Deej's eyes skimming over my body. Not crude. Just... bold. Like he hadn't been taught to look away.
I used to be looked at like that all the time.
It wasn't about vanity. I'd made peace with aging, even embraced it in some ways. But there's something dangerous about being invisible, especially once you've had a taste of being seen.
And then there was the other one. Anton. Watching, but not in the same way. There was something about the way he stood. Still, grounded, like he was reading the entire situation without needing to speak. Like he was reading me.
I picked up my wine again and took a slower sip this time.
Maybe they were just passing entertainment. Maybe they'd be gone by tomorrow.
But part of me already hoped they'd come back.
Chapter 2 - Ice tea
The next day was hotter.
By late afternoon, I'd retreated beneath the wide parasol on my terrace, a new book in my lap, mostly unread. I kept glancing toward the gate more than I cared to admit.
And then I heard them again.
Laughter, closer this time. The steady thump of feet against sand. I peered over the edge of my sunglasses and saw them both approaching from the west end of the beach. Deej had the football tucked under one arm. Anton walked beside him, his expression unreadable, dark eyes scanning the shoreline... and then my garden.
I waited, pretending to be lost in the page, until the familiar thud of the ball reached my ears again. This time, it rolled with purpose. Slow and deliberate, until it stopped just inside my gate.
I set my book aside.
"Twice in two days," I called out, amused, rising from my seat. "I'm beginning to suspect you're doing this on purpose."
