Falling Down Under (I) #Wattys2016

Part 3

I was home an hour later.

Since the kids had already done their homework, we went for a swim before dinner. I'd made it a habit five years ago to commit to regular workouts and use the backyard pool more often. Before my marriage I was quite attractive, or so I was told, and never short on admirers. After the twins were born, I suffered from depression and gained almost twenty kilos, struggling to lose the excess weight. Thanks to Dave, my personal trainer and dear friend, my rigid exercise plan and change to a much healthier diet, I was now determined to keep my weight down. Luckily, calorie counting was no longer a daily task, but I had to make sure not to fall back into old habits. If only I could get rid of those nasty stretch marks.

Emma left the pool first to watch her favourite show, Home and Away. My gaze followed her walking up the stairs. She was a pretty girl. Tall for her age, probably a whole head taller than most other girls in her class. Beautiful chestnut brown curls framed her pretty face with lovely green eyes. Yes, the love of a mother.

Only ten minutes later Emma was shouting her head off, her squealing voice echoing through the house. I couldn't understand what she was saying but considered ignoring her, as she had always used her voice to get immediate attention. When she was little, I thought the tantrums would stop eventually. Don't get me wrong, she was a beautiful, lovely and smart girl, but being close to her teens now, she would still exaggerate, scream and yell to get me jumping. Sometimes, I was scared of the impending teenage years.

Annoyed, I finished my lap, climbed out of the pool and tightly wrapped the yellow beach towel around my body, securing the ends in the middle. It had gotten colder. Dark clouds gathered in the sky. It was probably a good time to get out.

Coming closer to the house, I heard Emma shout for the second time: "Muuum! Someone's here for yooouuu!" Stomping up the stairs, I internally cursed that she couldn't just come outside to tell me.

Walking past Emma, I gave her a stern look, which she ignored. Then I stopped in my tracks. Through the still locked fly-screen door, I saw him. What in the world is Mr Dream Guy doing here? He was dressed in clean grey suit pants and a white shirt, loosely hanging out. "Hello, Tom!" I greeted him, trying to sound as casual as possible. To open the fly-screen door, I loosened the hold of my right arm on the beach towel. I felt it loosening while my hands fumbled with the keys. But before I could hold it in place, the towel opened up and silently fell to the ground, exposing my purple sports bikini, belly and stretch marks. AAAwww! I felt the blood rush to my cheeks and quickly bent down to pick-up the towel, but not without bumping my head on the doorknob first.

"Scheisse!"I cried, holding my right hand over the appearing bruise. Here we go again. My left hand awkwardly tried to cover my front with the towel.

Tom opened the door, asking concerned: "Are you alright? Let me see." He gently took my hand in his, lifting it off the side of my head. If the pain was still there, I didn't feel it. Instead, I felt a range of other things, most of them so unfamiliar to me. My feet weakened, more because of Tom's presence than the bump, and just before they completely gave way, Tom placed his strong arm around my shoulder, supporting me walk to the kitchen. Oh dear! While I sat down on one of the chocolate brown leather chairs, Tom went to the freezer to get me an ice pack. One could have thought he was at home. "You're going to get a nasty bruise here," he continued in the most erotic voice. "Let me cool it. That'll help!" For a few minutes, we just sat there across from each other, not knowing where to look, and I couldn't stop feeling excited and a bit naughty about his presence. Actually, that resulted probably more from my thoughts than his presence. I've never had a one-night-stand, but from what I'd read about him - and I'd done a lot of that on the train home from work - that was his thing. I seriously doubted he needed to chase women to their front door though. His typical type also seemed to be a lot younger and blonder. Why was he here then?