“I won’t say no. Especially since you caught my hat. Thank you so much.”

Nanette treaded water back to shore. Where the sand had given under her weight in water, it was packed tight where the waves kissed land. The sarong hung heavy around her hips. She hadn’t intended on another swim, but, apparently, her hat had? Ridiculous, but at least she didn’t have to waste money buying another. Her gaze was on her hat, but then Nanette’s eyes traveled from the familiar weave to the hand clasping it. Specifically, the fingers. Which were long – graceful, even – but also bandaged.

“Oh, what happened? Here, may I see?” Nanette‘s brows furrowed in concern. Did he cut himself? Burn himself?

…And why did he look familiar? Granted, it was darker further out from the crowd, but her eyes were adjusting to the gloom. Nanette was sure he wasn’t one of those pretty boys in the bands she liked, the ones who could sing and dance in perfect harmony. No…an actor, maybe? A model? The latter made sense since he was practically looming over her. If anything, that just meant he could keep pace if she had to scurry back to her parasol for her first aid kit.

toppa time | mission

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“Fever dream – do you feel sick? It’s hot out, so if you don’t feel well you need to stay hydrated.”

The flirtation was glossed over because, firstly, Nanette knew she was not someone men pursued or wanted to accost. Second, if someone was so ill as to find her diverting in any way, then she was going to be worried. But other than the comments, he wasn’t radiating any sort of heat, wasn’t slurring and wasn’t swaying on his feet. So that was good, at least. Nanette chewed her lip as she eyed the wounds on his fingers. She knew a musician or two personally, and what this man said was true. She was going to worry regardless, clucking her tongue in a distinctly motherly way as she pressed his fingers to close and curl against his palm.

“I have my first aid kit back at my spot. I can disinfect these and apply more bandages, if you’d like,” Nanette said.

Even in the low light of evening, she could see this man a little clearer now. He had light hair and dark eyes, not unlike herself. God – Nanette knew that face, and there was something about his voice, too.

But he had asked her name, so she would focus on things that she knew. “Nanette. Please, just call me Nettie. And you? I’m sure it’s a lovely name for such a fine man.”

(To which, some people said her commentary was like a grandmother. Oh, what a lovely young woman! Or even, I’m sure you’re very popular wherever you go.)

Callan Young | mission

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