Rendezvous

Short story.

I arrive thirty minutes earlier than I was instructed because my deliciously zingy nerves wouldn't allow me to sit idle in my lonely flat any longer.

I stand waiting atop the highest cliff in Reflection Point while my ebony hair whipped around my shoulders, and even though I pull my woollen coat tighter around myself, the June chill crept down my spine. Of course I shivered, that's what the winter wind's intention was, wasn't it? A shiver makes us aware of our senses; reminds us that we were alive. For me, it got me to wondering whether what happened six months ago under the summer sun would remain only a cold memory instead of the beginning of something amazing.

I stepped closer to the cliff's edge and took a long look down toward the waves as they crash harshly against the menacing, sharp rocks below. I'd been a safe distance way from being carried away by a gust, but curiosity is my most notable trait. No matter how ominous, I always wanted to take a closer, inquisitive look. It got me more out of life than standing back at a safe distance. After all, I wouldn't be standing on top of this cliff waiting for my life to begin had I been an inanimate bystander . . .

I first saw him last December and was fully aware of him as soon as he'd entered the room. The party was 20's cabaret themed and he wore his pitch black fedora sexier than hot skin wears whipped cream. My stomach clenched delightfully as he kissed the cheek of my friend - the hostess - and then heartily shook the hand of her husband. I drank him in, foolishly ignored the indentation on his ring finger that must have up until recently held a gold band. I was unabashed in my curiosity of him and was obvious to the reason why his grey eyes found mine . . . the sharp, jazzy music muffled in my ears and my body, from my head to my toes, began to systematically shut down, shielding me from the heated gaze from this beautiful stranger. We lingered on each other as we played the soundless game of who would look away first. I'd never felt captured like this; feeling naked and vulnerable by humble eye contact from a man. Uncharacteristically, I dropped my eyes.

It was almost midnight before I plucked up the courage to speak to him, before I could think of something memorable to say. Guests were slowly trickling out of the door, three quarters of the glittered flappers and mobsters had left and I begged my heart to stop pounding so that when I did initiate our first contact, I wouldn't come across as a rambling infantile.

The hostess began collecting empty bottles and dumping them into the recycle bin, while the left over, stumbling guests slid the massive glass doors open wider to let in the cool, night breeze. I stood from the leather ottoman that had kept me since he had walked in, and faced the ocean. I shivered, though the breeze was not cold enough to cause such a provocative sensation. Perhaps the fantasies that had been swirling around my head since our eyes met were urging my neglected body to act on them. I closed my eyes and pressed my wine glass against my chest; turning it wistfully between my fingers . . . I let myself go again . . .

. . . The room was light and hid nothing of us, even under the cover of the summer sheets. He had me where he wanted me, beneath him like he loved. His hands on my thighs moved me slowly; measuring. He wanted it both ways; to watch me feel what his body did to me, at the same time to feel his hands in my hair while he tasted how much I loved him. He plays a game with me. With his fingers gripping me his pace quickens, and my head, as it dips back, tells him that I'm close. He moves me faster and I moan because he makes me feel completely uncensored; freedom to feel everything that this perfect man does to me. My thighs squeeze around his hips and I'm seconds away . . . building stronger . . . stronger . . . and just as I'm about to explode, his hands stop me from rocking against him. I gasp my frustration and he grins at me. Even when I smack his stomach and tell him it's not funny he continues to find me amusing. His arms wrap around me and pull me against his chest and he tells me he's sorry and that he loves me. I tell him I don't believe him and he says it's truer than the sky is blue. A giggle escapes me and I coyly tell him to prove it. He rolls me over and I'm once again engulfed by this man who proves that he loves me more than my body can take.

My eyes open and I take a breath. I know I have to do this now, before the chance escapes me and I never see him again. I turn to the bar, to where I last saw him, and he's gone. My eyes dart around the empty room and my heart plummets. I feel alone.

My name is being called and the hostess hands me a note: June thirty, three o'clock, Reflection Point.

So, to the letter, I'm here, waiting for the beautiful man in the fedora, wondering if I'm being made a fool. I can't help myself and dare to take a step closer to the cliff's edge. My foot slips and a fretful gasp leaves my throat as I begin to topple. Arms around me save my life and a husky voice against my neck tells me that if I fall, he will follow. He turns me around and I see his smouldering grey eyes. Before I can utter a single word he kisses me and I unequivocally understand that lonely is something that I will never feel again.