He was already inside when I opened the door of the dark red jag convertible and got into the driver’s seat. The door closed sharply and I pulled the seatbelt across my shoulder before lifting a diamond heeled foot onto the gas pedal. We were ready to go.
I don’t remember much, but I know we drove along an endless stretch of coast in the sunset, wind in our hair, both of us looking perfectly at ease.
Well… not just perfectly at ease. To be honest we were exactly that. Perfect.
He was perfectly attractive, perfectly dressed and he had this perfect air of confidence about him, as if he himself knew just how perfect he was. I was also perfectly dressed, from my diamond earrings to my four inch heels. And I felt perfect too as the wind slid past the folds of my silk dress. Everyone in the cars and along the side walks stared at us. The guys stared at me. The girls stared at him. And everyone wanted to be us.
After a while the coastal road ended and we were suddenly driving on a windy English country road. It was nearly dark and I couldn’t see ahead due to a bend in the road.
And all this while we remained silent, basking in our own perfect company.
So we drove on, moving forward on a road that we both know would never end.
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