The Lifeguard Tower – Part 2: Flat Water

Breakfast was flat whites and avocado toast at a cafe on the headland, then a long walk around the rocks, then a swim in the harbour pool, and by the time the sun dipped, neither of them had mentioned going home. Jamie felt like a teenager.

"I should have asked you out in November," said Nate.

"I'd have said yes."

"I know. That's why I'm kicking myself."

They ended up back at the beach at dusk, empty and quiet, the sea flat as a silk sheet. Nate unlocked the tower and they climbed the wooden steps together. The little cabin smelled of salt, rope and sun cream. Through the wide window, the last orange light poured onto the water.

"Strictly speaking, we're off duty," said Nate.

"Strictly speaking."

"May I kiss you, Jamie?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

The kiss was soft and slow and sun-warm. Nate's hands slid into Jamie's hair, his mouth tasted of salt and lime. They sank down onto the bench seat, laughing as a clipboard fell, then forgetting about everything except each other. Their sandy skin, warm from the day. The creak of old timber. The gentle shush of the sea. Neither of them hurried and neither wanted to.

Later, they lay wrapped in a rescue blanket, watching the stars come out above the flat black water.

"You know I'm going to be useless on patrol tomorrow," Jamie murmured.

"We'll both be useless." Nate grinned at the ceiling. "Someone's bound to drown."

"That's not funny."

"No. Sorry." He kissed Jamie's shoulder. "I'll watch the water. You watch me."

At six the next morning they were back in the tower with the thermos and the binoculars, the sunrise turning the surf to gold. Jamie kept his eyes carefully on the sea, and his knee resting against Nate's.

More gay romance stories: Morning Run · Night Telescope · The Tailor's Apprentice