A Heat Wave at the Lake Place

Karups

Karups Pic(s)

The sun was a heavy, molten gold pressing down on the old lake house, the air thick and still as honey. He found her on the creaking dock, her sundress clinging to the damp skin of her back, and he didn't speak, his approach a quiet question in the afternoon haze. His fingers, when they finally traced the line of her shoulder, were cool from the iced tea glass he'd abandoned, a shock that made her shiver. She leaned back into the solid warmth of his chest, her head finding its familiar place just beneath his chin, and his arms wrapped around her, a safe harbor in the swelter. The only sounds were the lazy lap of water against the wooden pilings and the frantic, rhythmic thrum of a single cicada in the pines. She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent of clean cotton and summer sweat, a fragrance that felt like home. His cheek came to rest against her temple, his breath stirring the fine, flyaway hairs at her neck, and she felt his heart beating a slow, steady counter-rhythm against her spine. In that suspended moment, the entire world narrowed to the points where their bodies met, a map of gentle pressure and rising heat. A profound tenderness swelled within her, so immense it threatened to spill over as quiet tears. They stood there, entwined and silent, until the fierce sun began to soften, gilding the lake in shades of rose and amber.