My eyes opened with a start, and I was no longer alone.
I could write that it was the fervently imagined, mind-blowing licks of Mr. Weston's inquisitive tongue that came to life and expertly supplemented the gentle rub of my fingers as I floated suitless and spread open to the world in his swimming pool.
But that's not what happened.
The pool's owner was fully clothed, fully dry and had just moved into my field of vision. Reflexively I jammed my knees together with a slapping splash, and in a panic, dived for cover.
Obviously, I couldn't stay under long enough for him to forget I was there. I tucked myself as tightly as possible against the ladder, popping up my wet head and snorting out water like a sheepish seal pup.
"I'm sorry I startled you, Fiona." Mr. Weston's calm contrition drifted nearby, but I couldn't see him.
I remained frozen in place, contemplating the glossy tile wall as it was danced upon by blue-lit ripples. The metal railing grew colder under my quivering hands as I continued to cough up the water I'd ingested.
"Here, come and put this on. I won't look; I promise." His tone was bedside manner, but that of a physician, not the would-be lover that stoked my libido a mere minute ago.
I was face to face with his Topsiders and tanned calves, choosing to focus on them while my feet pushed me up the ladder and onto the cool concrete deck. Almost instantly a towel dropped over my shoulders and I wrapped it tighter than a military cadet's made bed.
"Come sit down for a minute. Right here, on the bench." We were side by side, close but not touching under the veranda trellis. “Are you all right?”
I coughed once more and nodded. Could he see the scarlet letters on my cheeks in this light, I wondered, staring downward at anything that wasn't him, waiting for him to speak again. Or was he waiting for an apology?
"I'm sorry, Mr. Weston," I blurted, regressing ten years. "I didn't th-think anyone w-was home."
"No one was," he said lightly. "I just got back from the docks and thought I heard someone splashing about. Just glad it was you and that you were still afloat. Marvelous idea, really. Used to think of taking a birthday suit swim every now and then. Never got around to it, though."
If this was his idea of making me feel more at ease, it wasn’t working. Thermal imaging could have picked up my blush all the way from Perth.
This was my chance to tell him more, but my tongue might have well have been stapled to the roof of my mouth.
"Never mind; I take that back. I've made you uncomfortable enough already. I had no idea... I couldn't tell that you were... until it was too late...Well, what's done is done, and I'm the one who should be sorry."
Yes, done, I thought miserably. At best, he would find a polite way to rescind the open pool invitation, but that was the least of my worries. Maybe he'd go so far as to rat me out to Mom. I felt sick to my stomach.
"Don't be ashamed of anything, Fiona. No one will hear a word of it. If you like, you can get dressed in the downstairs bath and go directly home. If you want to stay, I'll make myself scarce and you are more than welcome to enjoy the pool as long as you wish, with all the privacy you need."
I could sense a window of opportunity sliding shut, and forced the words out. "I was thinking about you, just now," I whispered, still refusing to look at him.
"Ah." He took a deep breath, exhaled, stalled for a suitable approach.
He resumed, keeping the tone easy and conversational. "Haven't been around much this season, but I thought I had spotted you in the company of...” He frowned as his memory searched for the right name.
"Daryl. He's just a friend."
"No boyfriend?"
I shook my head.
He rummaged his shirt pocket while ruminating on recent events I thought had been long forgotten. "I might have guessed something about your motives when you brought over those delicious brownies a few months ago, but after you offered to wash the windows, it was more than a guess."
My heart gave a merry thump at his approval of my culinary labor of love, but he wasn't finished speaking.
"I'm flattered, Fiona. Truly. But this sort of thing can happen to an impressionable young lady like yourself."
Oh great. Here comes the lecture.
He struck the match he had retrieved and lit a citronella candle in its tin bucket. Smoke drifted into my nostrils. I sneezed.
"Bless you. Because I may not get another chance to ask, what did I do to deserve this very generous amount of your thoughts?"
"Well..." I gulped. You can’t come out and say you have the hots for him, but is this the best you can come up with?