The beginning of the affair…

He has a shoulder-length curly hair, flowing in gold, and summoning images of long flirtatious beach escapades under a delicate sun.

It was his hair that first caught her attention. Or may be it was the way it embraced a lengthy sturdy neck. She couldn’t stop stealing glances of a self-imposing adam’s apple decorated with throbbing veins and covered by a rough premature gold beard.

His face was long with wide but not fully squared-chin and he had a pointed nose. Just

 A Unique Take on Trees by Ildiko Neer

A Unique Take on Trees by Ildiko Neer

looking at his face makes her smell the romantic fresh crisp wet streets of Paris. He is so French and she has never met a real-life French hero before. She only reads about them in popular romantic fiction books, or see them in her approved list of romantic movies.

His eyes were so blue that they made her sad. His sleepy prolonged brown lashes made promises and broke them, all at the same time. He is moderately built; not a stick but not disgustingly body-built either.

He shows up every weekend in khaki shorts and a loose white or baby blue cotton t-shirt with a v-neck exposing the tip of a tanned hairy chest. She could picture him in her head while he slides it smoothly, carelessly, and confidently over his body in the morning.

He hardly checks his big metallic watch which matches perfectly the rugged arm. He is always so laid back. She could see it in his languorous smile to his two beautiful daughters, and the way he walks barefooted around the park, bathing his feet in the early Saturday morning dew, on the tips of a yearning grass.

Though she was confident he is completely out of her league, she thought she caught him paying her few glances across the buzzing weekend’s playground.

Last week, their eyes met and locked for few seconds. He didn’t look away as she challenged him and stared back blatantly, this time adamant to confirm her doubts.

“Mom, I need help, please!”

Her son’s voice broke the spell,  forcing her to violate the sanctity of a deliciously stolen moment. She looked away and held her son with a coarse hand wrapped in a frail wedding-ring. She could still sense his eyes lingering on her back.

This entry was posted in Beginnings, Fiction, Love, Memories, thoughts and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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