Driftwood Deeds by Laila Blake

the man who had held me so tightly the night before just before I’d fallen asleep. I ladled the peach sauce onto my plate, trying not to cry, trying to remember who I was and why I was here.
    He watched me while I took my first bite. I leaned back, savoring the tangy sweetness. Just another of those contrasts: he shouldn’t have been as good a cook as he was, he shouldn’t have been as chipper and detached and he definitely shouldn’t make me feel like this, like I couldn’t bear even thinking about walking away from him.
    “Sorry, I’m not much of a morning person.” I had only taken a bite or two, something about the taste was like just another caress, especially because he seemed to be watching me for exactly that reaction. “I’m going to grab a shower and then we’ll get that interview done and then I’ll get out of your hair.”
    There was a pause in his movement, barely noticeable. Then he shook his head.
    “There’s no need to rush,” his smile was back in place, pleasant and intelligent and all those things that had charmed me the day before and that I still was far from impervious to. “We have all day.”
    Dragging my fork over the plate, I painted little spikes into the peach sauce. 
    “It’s fine, it’s a long way back and I have work tomorrow.” 
    I couldn’t look at him but when he covered my hand with his, I had to fight to keep my eyes on my plate. He was warm and still calloused but that never seemed to stop him from being perfectly tender and soft when he wanted to be.
    “I was thinking... we might take another walk outside. There’s a beautiful quiet beach, nobody ever goes there—“ I stopped him when I looked up. I don’t know what he read in my eyes but I could see him almost physically recoil. That hurt, too.
    “And I’d leave on the late train?”
    “Sure. I mean, we had fun yesterday, didn’t we? Why not make the most of it?”
    I pulled my hand away, and my face curved into the same sweet, polite distance that he had mastered. I hated smiling like this and quickly dropped my gaze back towards the pancakes.
    “I don’t know, Paul. I think we shouldn’t—” I didn’t know what to say but Paul was already on his feet, all smiles and unthreatening gestures.
    “How about this, I’ll grab a shower while you finish your breakfast like a good girl and then we’ll talk about this. How does that sound?”
    I nodded, smiled and demonstratively ladled a forkful of pancake into my mouth. His smile made me want to cry and I held my breath until he’d left the room. It took a while until I heard the water jump into life, rattling some pipes before it gushed out and over his naked body. I felt drawn to that room, so much that there was a moment where I almost opened the door to get to him, to touch him, kiss the drops of his skin.
    But I didn’t. I found my messenger bag. The laptop was still in there but he had also replaced the tape recorder and there was a small plastic bag. I shouldn’t have but I opened it and with the scent of last night’s panties, memories shot like lightning through my body. 
    I slid into my shoes and tore a page out of a notepad. I wrote with shaking fingers.
     
    Paul,
    Thank you for a wonderful day. Please don’t think that it’s easy for me to walk away from you, but you have awakened something in me. You have made me want to enjoy every moment without worrying about, planning or expecting a future. You made me want more. And that’s why I can’t stay. I can’t enjoy this one little drop at a time, always knowing you will turn the tap off eventually. You are a wonderful person, a wonderful man, you should know that. I don’t expect you to change for me. And for this of all things, I won’t beg. So I’m only left with this one option.
    Don’t worry about the interview. I think I have enough for an article as it is. Maybe I’ll email you later for some quotes but don’t worry. I’m leaving now because I have to, because I don’t