His eyes followed the outline of her freshly cut crop. Then he stepped back, taking in all of her splendour. In mischief, he said, “Your hair is…different.” She fingered and set what little fringe remained and enquiringly shook her head, “You don’t like it?” He took a further step back, “No…I love it actually. I’ve always wondered how you’d look with short hair.” She flushed but managed to mouth the words come here and he did just that. “I’m glad you love it. You know what I’m like when it comes to my hair.”
She was delicately beautiful and if that exchange of small talk hadn’t permitted itself, he could have easily just got lost in her loveliness, as he always did. Her green eyes were an invitation to a kiss now and he shaped further towards her. Placing his hands on her naked waist below her crop top, he gently pulled her into his space. He linked his fingers with hers and put her hands behind his back. Locked together, their mouths met and they dissolved into each other. She felt, smelt and tasted satisfyingly familiar to him and the joy and relief of the moment moved them to speak of their love for each other. Guilty pleasures.
Later that night, wrapped in each others arms, they fell asleep.
In the morning, he awoke to the coldness and pain of loneliness, a tight sheet plastering his aching frame. She was gone. She’d left a glass of water at his bedside and a hand written little note that when caught by shafts of daylight beaming in between partially closed curtains read,
until the next time Jamie, love Roxy xxx
A little while later, he quenched himself with the water, folded the note into a tidy square and put it with others just like it.
