Sun-chapped Lips

By Gina

            She sighed again and shifted on the hammock, nestling her head on her arm. The blanket was draped across her legs, her feet free of the fabric. The salty sea breeze grazed her shoulders and stomach, reminding her that she needed to put her shirt on. The night had been warmer than she’d thought it would have been, and the unnecessary layer had been removed. A gull landed on the porch railing, and she groped under the hammock for her camera. Silently focusing, she received the satisfactory -click-  of the shutter before the gull flew off again.

            Swinging her legs over the edge of her make-shift bed, the rough surface of the wood made her carefully step around. She rarely wore shoes and the bottoms of her feet were calloused and tough, but the thought of prying a splinter out of her foot made her queasy. She padded into the kitchen, pulling the blanket in with her.

            “Morning,” she mumbled to her roommate and employer. She was only living here as part of an intern program. As an art student, the opportunity to live with the great photographer Kay Nothem had seemed like a dream. Even more of a dream-come-true when she’d basically won the intern with her photo essay.

            “Morning Sera,” the older woman replied, putting down her paintbrush to pick up her glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice. Her silver hair hung down to her mid-back, and speckles of paint were caught on the tresses. The tanned and weathered skin of her hands and face were also a canvas for the paint that never made it to where they were going.

            “I just have a couple of errands for you today, and I know it’s your day off so they’ll be quick,” Kay said, resuming her previous task of painting. Sera nodded.

            “Sure, what do you need?” She’d only been there for about two weeks, but already knew her way around town and was familiar with more than a handful of people.

            “Can you just run those canvases down to Eric’s, and we need some food. I’m not use to having another person live here permanently, and especially one that can cook.”

            Sera laughed and told her she would after she changed. Eric was Kay’s boyfriend and fellow artist. The two were going to live together, but neither wanted to give up their house that had been marked with their art, so they just “lived” at each other’s place. She ran upstairs to her respective bedroom and grabbed a t-shirt and jeans. Doing a “pit” check, she put on some deodorant and perfume and went downstairs, finger combing her hair. She grabbed the deliveries and yelled a goodbye, heading to the side of the house. She hopped onto the old bike, and rode down the street, feeling the morning sunlight pound on her back. It was going to be a very hot day, she decided, pedaling quickly.

            “Eric!” She banged on the door before going in. He was lounging on the couch, and glanced at her lazily, rubbing his face. She waved the canvases in front of his face, and he groaned.

            “Why are you so early?” he yelled as she walked back to the kitchen, and put them on the table.

            “Morning to you to. And it’s hard not to wake up when the sun is shining in your face,” she explained, handing him a water. He sat up and rubbed his face, before taking gulps of the water.

            “That’s because you sleep outside. If you were normal,” he stopped and shook his head, “Never mind. If you were normal you wouldn’t be here. See you later!” he called as she walked back out, waving behind her. 

            She rode her bike down to the docks and got off, leaning the rusted metal against an old fishing shack. A few of the men yelled out greetings and she answered, walking over to a few of the booths that lined the market. She chatted aimlessly with Marissa, the woman working at the fresh produce stand and who was carefully balancing her whining toddler on her hip. Sera bought sliced mango and pineapple and a yogurt, departing with a farewell. She walked down to an unused dock, swung her legs over the side of the battered wood, and dangled her toes in the water. She was so absorbed with her breakfast that she did not notice the boat that bumped against the other side of the dock, or the man that hopped down and looked at her. When she finally realized someone was watching her, she looked up, squinting against the sun, and felt a blush rise to her cheeks.

            “Morning,” she said as lightly as she could, grateful that her voice didn’t quaver. The man grinned and sat down next to her, tilting his hat to her. She watched the strands of bleached hair fall out of the loose ponytail and graze his bronzed forehead. He leaned towards her, still grinning.

            “Morning to you to.” He leaned back and regarded her, as she pretended to not notice, but she was tapping her fingers and he noticed it was probably a nervous habit. He cleared his throat and smiled again, bringing her gaze back up to his face. She was pretty in an odd sense, not someone he would have normally noticed. But he had, the very first morning she’d come down to the dock and bought an apple from Marissa. He had watched for her every other morning, and was glad that she was sitting on the dock he normally used. He had the strange desire to know her: everything about her. She looked at him expectantly over the rim of her glasses, and he liked the flecks of blue in her green eyes.

            “You’re new around here, right?” he asked, trying hard to seem laid back and cool. She cocked an eye brow and smiled.

            “Yes, although I figured my blindingly pale skin would have been a noticeable clue,” she said, taking a bite of pineapple and glancing at his arms, which were about forty shades darker than her own. He gave her a lopsided grin.

            “Not so blinding. And you’re not that pale either,” he answered, letting his gaze wander across her arms and face, which had a tinge of color and a fading pink of a burn. She would be brown within the next few weeks. She let out a little laugh and he watched the charm of her choker necklace shake. He held out his hand.

            “I’m Steve, your friendly local fisherman.”

            She wiped her hand on her pants and took his in hers, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. His intense gaze was making her blush, and she hoped he thought it was just a sunburn.

            “I’m Sera, your aspiring but failing artist.” She reluctantly let go of his hand and reached for another piece of mango. Realizing she was being rude, she held out the cup.

            “Want some?” He looked slightly surprised but he smiled and nodded.

            “Sure, why not?” He took a piece of pineapple and popped it into his mouth. They sat on the dock eating the fruit quietly and looking at the ocean. She broke the tranquility of the moment by looking down at her watch and sighing.

            “I’ve got to get going. See you later?” she asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. He got up as she did and nodded, walking to her bike with her.

            “Yeah, maybe I’ll see you tomorrow or something,” he said nonchalantly. She smiled and got on the bike, waving as she pedaled away. He raised one hand after her. They both turned back to the tasks the day brought them, but they were both thinking about the next morning, and the butterflies in their stomachs at the thought of it.

A/N: So, what do you think? I just came back from vacation in Key West and met someone… well, I was compelled to write this story. I’m not entirely sure where it’s going but I’m hoping I don’t lose interest. ::tries to chain Muse to computer chair::

Review please! I know this chapter was somewhat short, but I’m trying to get this out of my head while it lasts.