Monday, 10 June 2013

Monday, June 10, 2013 -

The Beachcomber's Love

by Abigail Armani
Published: Jun 08, 2013
Words: 17,718
Category: romance
Orientation: M/F
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Greg ducked his head as he came out of the low door of his cottage - one of a row of brightly painted, red-roofed fisherman's cottages that nestled shoulder to shoulder, flanked from the northern gales by the lofty crag above. From a distance the cottages appeared to tumble down the steep cliff side to the seafront below.

The late afternoon September sun shone on the sweep of golden sand and glinted on fossil-filled pools. He never tired of wandering along the tide line of the bay, especially off-season when the tourists had fled from the blustery north Yorkshire winds to find warmer climes down south.

It was low tide, and the beach was deserted save for the gulls as they wheeled through the sky and skimmed the surface of the sea to bob comically on the eddying waves.

He set off along the mile-wide bay, a fossil-seeker's paradise. Had any woman been watching, she would have found him an arresting figure, tall - 6ft 4 - darkly handsome, chocolate brown eyes with a sensuous glint, and a smile to set pulses racing and just the right amount of stubble to be sexy. Today he looked particularly striking as he wore white Chinos and a white shirt, for no other reason than all his remaining clothes were dirty and he hadn't got around to washing them.

Head down, his unruly dark thatch of hair topped with a baseball cap, he walked on the damp sand, leaving a trail of solitary footprints in his wake. Anything of interest or possible use found its way into the big canvas bag on his shoulder. One of his more satisfying finds on a previous occasion had been a large rubber-soled gents slipper. He had pounced on it, cleaned it up, and dried it out on the top of his wood burning stove, and as a joke tested its stinginess on the bottom of a former girlfriend (she was not impressed, and voluntarily moved from current to former girlfriend status). There were no such finds today, and the canvas bag began to fill with an assortment of unusual shells, ammonites, and a curiously shaped piece of driftwood.

It had been raining heavily earlier, and the force of the downpour on the shale and clay land had caused the cliffs to crumble a little, revealing more fossils. He prized them out of the rock carefully with a rock hammer and pocket knife, and added them to his growing collection.

Moving further down past brimming rock pools, he noticed something at the waters edge and set off towards it, thinking it might be more driftwood. But as he drew closer it became apparent that the driftwood was in fact a figure crouching down in the shallows. She was hugging herself, rubbing her arms as though she were cold. Indeed, at this time of year if she stayed in the water for much longer she would more than likely get hypothermia.

"You ok?" He moved closer.