Under The Boardwalk. Carla Cassidy

      “All right,” he said, suddenly knowing what he wanted. He gazed at her, wanting to fall into the shadows of her eyes, wanting to replay the past, make their ending different this time. “If you want me to save the boardwalk, you have to show me the magic again.”

      She stared at him and he could see the tumultuous emotions in her eyes. Like storm clouds in an early spring sky, they rolled and thundered, but beneath their turbulence, he saw something else, a spark of desire that flamed momentarily, then was quickly doused. She raised her chin and eyed him proudly and he was reminded once again of that first time he’d seen her. Looking back, he wondered if it wasn’t then, that very first time, that he’d fallen in love with her.

      She’d been so alien, so exotic-looking compared to the other girls he knew from school. She’d been barefoot, her legs sporting a deep tan that didn’t quite cover the bruised kneecaps and skinned shins.

      She looked like a homeless waif, and yet there was the glory of freedom in her eyes, a self-awareness that he found fascinating. She was like an entity from another planet and he wanted to possess her, contain her spirit and learn from it.

      He felt the same way now, as he waited for her answer.

      She tossed her hair away from her face and looked at him, her eyes glittering with challenge. “Okay, Grey, I’ll show you the magic,” she finally answered.

      Unconsciously, he took a step toward her, overcome with the need to take her in his arms, feel her body pressed tightly against his.

      Her eyes flared slightly as if she read his intent and she took a step back from him. “I’ve got to get to the theater,” she said as she looked at her watch. With a stiff nod, she turned and fled.

      He watched her go, wishing he could call back yesterday, wondering exactly what had gone wrong between them, knowing that it wasn’t over yet. He knew in that instant that he couldn’t go ahead with his future until he resolved this issue from his past. He needed one more night of holding her in his arms. He needed just one more night with her. Then, just maybe, he could finally let her go.