Suzanne sat on a large log, looking out to sea. The tide had fully retreated. It was one of the lowest neap tides of the year. Large patches of pungent sandy mud filled the spaces between the exposed rocks, acres of seafloor normally covered with plenty of water. She could see him in the distance, collecting the large blue-black mussels and depositing them into a pail. She had met him once before and he had invited her to accompany him once again, with the promise of a home-cooked meal afterward. Suzanne agreed with pleasure. She was attracted to his well-developed muscles.
By Chris Paul