Clean Romance 4 You

As though nothing more than a mirage, she saw a tired man crest over the hill coming from the beach and walking towards her. The distance between the man and herself allowed her time to stare at him without being obvious. The tall man wore a tattered pair of trousers and a fairly clean, cotton shirt fastened only by three lower buttons, allowing his vast muscles to protrude from beneath as he carried a knapsack on his shoulder. His skin was bronzed from what she assumed were probably years spent in the sun. His sandy whiskers weren’t long but had obviously been neglected for many days, and his blonde hair was nearly as white as old Mrs. Winters’, but unlike hers, his hair traveled halfway down his back.

He sported an odd appearance, yet he was almost intriguingly familiar. Alice smiled to herself as she speculated about his reasons for being in town and determined he was probably a sailor anchored in town for a few months until his ship sailed again. She loved to see the sailors who came into town—happy, bursting with life, and full of stories from the sea. She imagined this man to be no exception.

As the distance between them lessened, he smiled almost wistfully at her, and she felt herself stop and stare unabashedly at the stranger for, as he smiled, a memory flashed through her mind. She briefly allowed herself to conjure up the image of a boy from long ago. Quickly she pushed the thought away, reminding herself of the impossibility of it. She forced her feet to again continue on their path home. Yet, still staring at the stranger while he passed, she felt the thrill that shot through her body as she saw him wink at her. Finally pulling herself from her constant appraisal of the man, she turned her head back around and continued on down the road.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Alice turned at the sound of a soft, masculine voice behind her and there, looking expectantly at her, stood the man she had been visually devouring only moments before. “Yes?”

“I realize this is probably a strange thing to ask, but . . .” He paused and looked at the inquisitive eyes that were lingering on him from passing spectators. He seemed suddenly less sure of himself. “D-do you know if the . . . the Newman’s still live around here?” he asked in a lowered, hesitant voice.

“Well, sure. They’ve lived west of town about a mile for longer than I can remember.” Then as curiosity got the better of her, she could not restrain the question from escaping her lips. “Are you one of Augustus’s nephews? You bear a striking resemblance to Augustus himself.”

The man chuckled uncomfortably and pushed a hand through his tangled hair. “Well, thank you, miss, but I’m not his nephew.”

A look of pain seemed to cross his face before he tipped his head to her in parting and left her alone to ponder on the encounter. Alice knew she had never seen this man before. She would have remembered. His weathered face made him appear quite old, and she felt a stab of sorrow at the look of pain that had so recently crossed his face. The look in the man’s eyes caused him to look somehow even older than he did at first sight.