The Guy at the Beach (Short Story)

Photo by Eric Ward on Unsplash

He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. We locked eyes in passing, and even the rising sun seemed like a dull warmth compared to the heat of his gaze. He’d been there all night, lost in the mass of others along the beach who’d stayed to enjoy the bonfire, and it wasn’t until it was time to leave that I’d stumbled across him. It didn’t seem fair.

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I let my eyes drift to the car park over a hundred yards away. I catch sight of him just as he pulls himself into his light blue jeep, and he turns in my direction.

I look away quickly, but it’s too late. He’s caught me staring. I’m about to plop down in the sand instead of continuing the trek to my own car, but I hear the sound of his engine starting, and I’m relieved the lingering embarrassment will be gone soon. I wait for the sound of his car to fade away, but I’m alarmed when I realize he’s getting closer.

My head shoots up in surprise, and I see him driving across the sand. I shift nervously on my feet, but he pulls up next to me and slows to a stop.

He flashes a wide smile, cheeks dimpling. “You too tired for breakfast?” he asks, pinning me with an unwavering gaze.

“What?” I ask quietly. I’m hardly audible over the rumble of his engine.

“May I take you to breakfast?” he asks, but this time his brows pinch forward as if he’s concerned he misread the obvious signals.

Unable to find my voice, I nod, blinking in surprise.

His wide grin returns, and he reaches down, nodding towards my hefty bag. I pass it over hesitantly, knowing it’s heavy, but he takes it easily and places it in the back. He watches me as I circle around the front of his jeep in a dazed state, still unable to process that this is happening, and he reaches across to open the passenger door.

“I like pancakes,” I say as I plop into the seat.

“Perfect,” he says, laughing, and he steers us towards the road and city that awaits us.

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