A taste of Summer



The sky falling slowly in the late afternoon, in the distant a train bell sounds at a crossing warning pedestrians, closer to home a bird calls. It's nearly dusk. Day is almost ended. Rebecca can hear tell-tale, heavy footfalls coming up the path. He walks in an oil skin jacket. Today it is too hot, thought it sits across his broad shoulders as though it was born there; nailed to him. The leather is dark and worn. His blue faded shirt is tucked in at the waist, into jeans, too dark with dirt and a history of being favoured and worn.

Patrick opens the gate for the first time in a long time, savoring the sound as it swings and creaks, cast iron embellishment moving uneasily. It's nothing that a bit of WD 40 couldn't fix but nobody's done it and perhaps it sounds better that way. At the door, he takes off his droving hat, rakes a hard, calloused hand through his hair and his unruly hair disobeys. It clearly bears signs of being under a hat too long despite Pat's best intentions. It falls over his eyes. He doesn't notice.

Walking towards him along the lino, Rebecca can be heard coming towards him. As always, daylight on his side means she'll be able to see him long before he can see her. He grins onto the fly wire front door, blind, hoping she can make out his face. Rebecca watches, her heart twisting as a smile transforms his face. The door is a friend, her lover. It's all she can do not to run.

He scoops her up and the feel of his muscled shoulders under her palms is exquisite. Life is rockmelon, cinders and canvas. Rebecca's lips aren't overly full but her pretty smile lights up her face. It makes her green eyes twinkle and it makes Pat think of his time as a kid, fishing, looking into a sea of the same colour. He shifts his heavy arms and embraces her.

Though tall for a woman, Becky is eaten up by the size and the enthusiasm of her lover's embrace. He strokes big palms over the rough cotton of her shirt; likes the sound and so does it again. Becky can't breathe. It might be impossible to want to be any closer. She folds her arms around his neck and drinks in the smell of him.

Pat smells like blue skies, dirt and summer. Burying her nose in his neck she feels the old leather against her ear, the cotton of his shirt against her cheek, rom the corner of her eye she notes the coarse, fine hairs that struggle free from his top button. She smiles, kissing him lightly. Her face tickles neck.

“Bec?”

Pat sets her aside. The tiny woman looks up, flashing fire at him, an offended cat.

“I got you a present”

“I don't want that kind of present.”

Her face feels cool now, her hands light and lonely. She steps back into his embrace and he cups her bottom through the various materials of her skirts.

“When did you get so damn trendy?”

“It's a new dress, is all. Do you like it?”

“I dunno, let me take it off and get a better look at it.”

Finally, Pat's mouth descends on hers in a kiss. 

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