Sticky
Fingers sticky from the fresh figs they had bought at the market, he eyed the swing set on the playground with childish glee. She caught his glance and smiled as he raced past the playscape bridge towards the empty swing.
At first, he was hesitant — the chains that supported the seat seemed flimsy, made for a small child and not a 200-pound grown man. With her encouragement, he discarded his hesitation, climbed on, dug his feet into the sand, and pushed off.
To his left, he noticed that she had joined him, swinging higher than he dared to go, laughing as the wind ruffled the folds of her sundress. He stole secret peeks at her smiling face each time their swinging arcs crossed.
Across the square, a tourist pointed a camera towards the swinging pair in an impromptu photoshoot.
They continued swinging. And he was happy.
