Sitting across the table, the mustard yellow table cloth fluttering in the warm breeze, he felt he had hit upon the solution. The problem was complex, the desired outcome ambiguous, every path to a resolution tried, unclear and blocked. He, they, had thought of so many possibilities, but none quite fitted the agreement. Of course, he reasoned, why do we not simply violate the agreement (again). She was happy with this idea, except the knowledge that it would be discovered, and there would be consequences. And she, they, did not like consequences touching them at all.
The limes lay, cut, on the board in the kitchen, as she gently placed the water they lightly flavoured on the table. Leaving the kitchen, entering the world, she looked breath-taking. Her ice white sarong moved as effortlessly as she did, the force of her small steps and the wind in harmony. He gasped, he could not help himself.
“Your hair looks nice today,” he said, miserly in his praise. Today suggesting it was normally quite foul. She did not notice, either the compliment nor the implied criticism. They were happy.
Sky and sea, both blue, but so very different. A brightness in both, a depth in one. He looked up at her again and motioned. She started to pour the delicately limed water, he asked for ice. She remained sitting.
She wondered aloud what his plan was now, how to get around this awkward impasse they are stuck with, still. She groaned when she heard his response.
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