A Late Affair…


Just stumbled across a composite story, written by three separate authors at one of our Omega Writers group meetings last year. It was such a fun exercise, and this story took us all by surprise. We hope you enjoy it and that if you live in the Adelaide area you’ll consider coming along to one of our meetings…



Sam stepped, blinking, into the early morning sun. She grinned and adjusted her scarf again, smoothing the rumpled edges of her jumper. She could imagine Ryan’s face when she sauntered through the door, and wondered how long it would take him to notice she still had on last night’s clothes. Pulling her coat around her and stuffing her gloveless hands into her pockets, she trudged off in the direction of Ryan’s cabin.

There had been fresh snow, Sam noticed, which had covered all trace of the previous night’s antics. She grinned again, and let out a giggle at the thought of it – midnight tobogganing!

It had been like a dream, yet the memory of all those heavy flakes dancing down around them, lit up like shreds of gold foil by the streetlights, hung in her mind as clear as a picture. Lying on their backs in the snow in the park, laughing, breathless, their arms had touched. Then their hands. Ryan had tentatively taken hers in his, and simply held it. That was as far as things had gone. But that had been far enough, and they had each retired to their separate cabins thrumming on the inside with the unexpected joy and nervous anticipation that always attends a burgeoning romance.

So now they would be face to face in the unromantic light of day. Who would speak first, Sam wondered, and what would they say? Was this really the beginning of something, or would there now be a cautious retreat? A careful checking of positions like competitors in a game of chess, or the ridiculous rush of caution thrown to the winds, like tobogganing – no brakes, little steering.

Chewing a nervous lip, Sam knocked on the door to Ryan’s cabin. But as soon as he answered, she knew, knew immediately, that this relationship was not to be the careful art of chess, but the carefree, careless rush of the toboggan. After all, their eyes told each other, we don’t have time to plot and calculate. We’re both well into our eighties.

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