The Surf Lifesaver – Part 2: Sunset Patrol

The last patrol of the season ended at six.

The beach was nearly empty. Joggers and dog walkers trailed along the tideline. The tide was out, the sand hard and shining, the surf lazy and low. A pink haze stretched along the horizon.

Zac and Henry took down the flags together. They folded them, rolled the rope, stowed the gear in the clubhouse. When everything was neat, they climbed the wooden steps to the deck and sat on the rail with two mugs of tea, legs dangling, watching the sunset.

"Season's done," said Zac.

"I can't believe it."

"You've passed your bronze."

"I know. I nearly cried."

"You nearly drowned."

"That too."

They laughed. The sun slid lower. The sea turned gold, then copper, then violet. A line of pelicans glided past, low and slow. A faint warm wind lifted the smell of salt and frangipani.

"I'm going to miss patrol," said Henry.

"You don't have to."

"What do you mean?"

"There's winter training. Weekends. Mostly we drink tea and play cards." Zac scratched his head. "And I'd, um, like you there."

Henry's heart did a clumsy double flip. "I'd like to be there."

"Can I ask you something?" said Zac.

"Yes."

"May I kiss you? I've been wondering since the rescue."

"Yes," said Henry. "And if you say stop, you must teach me to surf."

"That'll take a year."

"I'm patient."

Zac kissed him, salt-warm, a sandy hand rising to cup Henry's cheek. Henry kissed him back, slow and wondering, tasting of tea and sunscreen. The last light turned the deck to gold. The surf sighed, indifferent and kind.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" asked Zac.

"Green," said Henry. "Very green."

Next season, the two of them took the same patrol, with a shared radio call-sign: Burleigh Two.

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