Gloria’s hand is warm in his, feeling alive and vibrant against the sharp cold gusts of wind that carry across the seafront. They stand side by side, looking out at the waves, which glisten and shine in dappled sunlight.
“It’s beautiful,” he says. He steals a glance sideways, drinking in her face in portrait, glowing radiant in the bright light. “You’re beautiful.”
She laughs, tilting her head back as he admires her. “Stan, you’re too pure for this world.”
“I prefer to think of myself as a dedicated observer of universal truths.”
She looks at him and smiles. Their gazes meet, her brown eyes sparkling. “A speaker of universal cliche, more like.”
“Classics, not cliche,” he challenges. He sweeps his free hand toward the vista before them. “Is the sea cliche? Has it been done too many times?”
“We could have gone to the dump instead. Picked through some romantic detritus.”
He shakes his head. “No, I took you around the second hand shops yesterday. It’s been done.”
She laughs again and shoves him gently. He leans back, putting his weight gently against the counterbalance of her grip, still soft and warm, then pulls gently back. He almost leans in for a kiss, but she has turned her face back to the sea.
“You could have found the beauty in broken old toasters and rusted bicycles,” she tells him. He looks out at the sea once more, hunching his shoulders against the cool wind, and explores what lies before him.
“I’d rather find it in mottled seagulls and discarded instant barbeques. The true icons of the British seaside.”
“No, the over-priced pubs and fish and chips are the true hallmarks of the seaside.”
“The former is why people eat barbeque, and the latter is why the seagulls mass here. QED.”
“For a foreigner, you really have grasped British culture quite well.”
“I don’t understand,” he says, looking at her again, eager to gauge her reaction. “No one here is watching reality television.”
She laughs once more, and looks at him again. Her skin glows in the sunlight, surrounded by loose hairs that wave in the wind. “I love you, Stan, you romantic idiot.”
[This was a writing exercise, challenging me to match setting and mood in a scene of dialogue.]
