The Best Next Thing ((Un)Professionally Yours 1)

“Let’s go.”

Miles appreciated Stormy’s clear enjoyment of the exciting new sights and sounds around her. They were walking downstream along the slow-moving river, toward the beach. There were a few random anglers scattered about, all of them utterly focused on their lines. Several of the men looked up and nodded as Miles and Charity passed.

Stormy, after initially pulling at her lead, finally settled into a cheerful trot alongside Miles’s heel, happily obeying his unspoken commands to speed up or slow down. Charity didn’t speak much, she seemed content to take in the scenery, occasionally pointing out water fowl with descriptive names like “black-winged stilt”, or “white-faced whistling duck”, and his favorite, the “maccoa duck”. It was his favorite mainly because of Charity’s reaction when she spotted it.

She grabbed his arm to halt his movements and leaned toward him with such urgency that for a split-second Miles thought she must have injured herself. An instant later, she pushed the length of her body against his side to get closer to his face. For a breathless, exciting moment he was utterly convinced she was going to kiss him.

Instead, disappointingly, she placed her mouth close to his ear to whisper, “Look! Over there. Maccoa ducks.”

His eyes followed the straight line of her arm and extended index finger to spot a family of happily bobbing ducks. Weird looking, squat things with brown bodies, black heads, white markings on their faces, and magnificent blue bills.

“We’re lucky to see them, especially at this time of year. There are no females in this group. They’re probably nesting already. I’m really surprised they’re here. They’re rarely found on rivers, I assume because of the recent rains, and because this part of the river is fairly sluggish, it offers some good eating. They’re on the near endangered list and are quite shy.”

“You know a lot about this stuff,” he murmured.

“Not really. I’m just interested in my surroundings and do a lot of reading in my downtime.”

“You probably have a lot of that. Downtime, I mean.”

She was still staring at the ducks—a dreamy, faraway look on her face. He wondered what was behind that reflective gaze.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he offered, his voice hushed. He did not want to spook her or the contentedly bobbing ducks.

A smile crooked the corner of her lips, but she kept her eyes on the birds.

“A penny? Hmm…what with the currency conversion, that’s slightly more than they’re worth.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“I was considering your statement. About me having a lot of downtime. Seems it would be bad form to agree with your employer about having little, to nothing, to do when they’re not around. Wouldn’t want you to reconsider my worth or anything.”

“Now now, Mrs. Cole,” he said, his voice light. “You know you’re priceless.”

The smile faded and a troubled frown fleetingly settled on her face before she smoothed her expression and turned away from the ducks. “Let’s get to the beach, Stormy’s getting impatient.”

Disturbed by the depth of sadness he’d seen on her face moments before, Miles hesitated, but she moved onward without waiting for him to follow. He remained rooted to the spot and watched the enigmatic beauty walk away from him. It was a pleasure to witness her graceful gait. She had her gloved hands tucked into the pockets of her down jacket and strands of her hair escaping the confines of her scarf and riding on the breeze behind her. Lending her an ethereal vulnerability.

Stormy whined and strained against her leash, eager to follow Charity. Miles complied, taking a few hurried strides to catch up with the woman.

The river mouth widened and shallowed when they reached the beach, and the fresh water flowed placidly into the gentle embrace of the ocean. Well, currently gentle. Miles imagined the ebb and flow of the waves would be a lot less tranquil once the tide rolled in.

The scenery changed dramatically at the beach. The lush greenery of the trees and shrubs along the riverside opened up to a long stretch of pristine white sand dunes, dotted with hardy fynbos, and a flat shoreline, perfect for sunbathing during summer.

The beach was empty and, despite the relative warmth of the day, a light mist was hovering just above the ground. Miles could see a jogger coming toward them, still so far off, he was nothing but a dark speck in the distance. He could just make out a smaller speck—probably a dog—keeping pace with the jogger.

As Charity had predicted, there were a few kite surfers dotted along the shore, some in the water, and several still unloading their kites. A lone kayaker was paddling out beyond the surf. A couple walked hand in hand down the beach. They had their shoes off and pant legs rolled up, but maintained a respectful distance from the gentle, lapping waves. Miles imagined the water had to be freezing.

This place was paradise and Miles inhaled deeply—happy that he was able to do so with relative ease—enjoying the salty tang of the fresh air. He looked at Charity who was watching him with a smile.

“Why haven’t I ever come out here before?” he wondered out loud, and her smile widened.

“I like coming here, especially in winter. It’s so peaceful. I often run on the beach.”

Of course, she did. Miles was starting to understand how important fitness was to her. She swam often and, in the last week, he had spotted her heading out to the lakeshore in running gear before dawn every day. He was usually out in his private garden at that time, waiting for Stormy to do her business.

Charity had no idea he knew,

and he didn’t want to mention it in case she felt uncomfortable or considered it an infringement of her privacy. He did not want her to feel like he was spying on her. The fact that he had seen her had been altogether unintentional…