Golden Hour

Chapter 6

Neil had chosen a table that showcased a lovely view of Bournemouth beach. It was a clear evening without the typical haze. Both of us took a moment to appreciate the Needles and the Isle of Wight in the distance before talking more about his firm and my business.

"Which do you like better? Teaching or translation?" asked Neil.

Careful...that's a trick question.

"Teaching allows me to help people, be creative, and take part in their development, which is rewarding," I replied. "But I also love concentrating on translations and working from home."

"Sounds like a good balance."

"Exactly." I took another sip. "What about you?"

"My job is a mixed role as well," he replied. "Half compliance, half advisory work."

"Which do you like more?"

"Compliance is steady, reliable work with fixed deadlines." He sipped his cappuccino. "But advisory work allows me to work creatively to find solutions that help people."

"Sounds like a good balance."

"Exactly." He chuckled and leaned in as though to tell me a secret. "Between the two of us, I do have a soft spot for the creative side of things."

"And I have a passion for teaching," I said in a conspiratorial whisper.

No, no! What are you doing? He wants you to translate, not teach. Dial it back.

"But I love helping people with translations too," I quickly added.

"There's nothing wrong with having a passion in life," he said. "A job is a job. It pays the bills. But we all have something that makes us get up in the morning."

"What's yours?"

The words slipped out before I could stop them. The deepest blush of embarrassment spread across my cheeks. Neil was interviewing me, not the other way around.

Dude, what are you even doing? You don't ask a fancy accountant what their passion is in a business meeting.

Ugh! What a disaster!

To my relief, Neil took it in stride, staring out at the beach. "Photography."

"Oh, really?" I asked, sounding a bit more astonished than I should have admitted.

His eyes twinkled when he turned his attention back to me. "Are only linguists allowed to be creative?"

Goodness me! You should tape your lips shut and never speak again. In the history of ever.

"No...no! Absolutely not. It's great." Had my face caught on fire? 'Cause it sure felt like it. "What kind of photography?"

"Landscapes mostly."

"What do you like best?"

He gazed out the window with a thoughtful expression.

"Look outside now," he said in a deep, calm, almost ethereal voice. "Can you see the sun bathing the world in a kind of redder, softer light? They call this the 'golden hour.'"

It was true. The position of the sun had turned the ocean and sand into a sea of golden tones. Red hues mixed with orange and yellow. Strollers along the beach had turned into naught but black silhouettes. Holding hands. Talking. Sharing life. The scene possessed almost a dreamlike quality that lifted my heart.

"Wow," I breathed, soaking it into my soul. "Why haven't I noticed that? It's beautiful."

"Yes, it is," he said with a gentle smile. "I try to capture that beauty in as many different places as I can. It's why I travel. It's why I exercise. It's why I work."

"Gosh, I can see why."

The world stood still as we watched the scene. From my perspective I forgot I was trying to acquire a client. In those precious moments before sunset, we morphed into two normal people appreciating the unbridled beauty of the Dorset coast.

Turning my attention back to Neil, I caught a glimpse of him observing me with an air of—it was difficult to pinpoint—admiration, perhaps? I didn't understand why. If anything, he had made an astute observation. Not me.

No, admiration was too strong a word; perhaps that look expressed pleasant surprise that I appreciated something important to him.

When our eyes locked, I felt a tiny spark. Magnetism. Once again the sensation tugged at frozen strings inside my cynical heart, reminding me of the comforting warmth near an open fireplace. 

How could an accountant—tax adviser, whatever—awaken my sleeping spirit with a single cursory glance?

It lasted only for a moment. So brief that I almost could have convinced myself that it hadn't happened at all. Maybe it hadn't. Perhaps I was simply a woman so starved of affection that I'd fallen prey to confirmation bias.

But I believed we connected.

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Word count: 731
Total word count: 5,462