Penelope had promised herself the usual things on this first day of the year—adopting a healthier lifestyle, saving, patching things up with her mother, getting a dog. She was still poor, petless and out of touch with her family. She was carrying a little more weight than she’d have liked. The exercise bike grew cobwebs on her verandah.
She woke with a splitting headache. I definitely shouldn’t drink so much, she thought. But it wasn’t a resolution—she thought that most mornings. In fact her end of year resolution had been to make no more stupid resolutions She always regretted them.
Pulling on her jeans she felt a square of paper in a back pocket. Seve and a mobile number.
Steve? She thought first. No Seve, like the golfer. Spanish bloke. Tall. Nice voice. Nice hands. Hmmm. Not much of a dancer though…no, hang on, that was Lester. She really had to drink less.
Through the morning her memory of Seve returned. They’d mostly just talked about travel. It was his relaxed manner that attracted her. By mid afternoon she’d tried his number. No answer. She left a message.
By evening she was sweating on a call. Oh what the hell. One more resolution couldn’t hurt. Could it? The text she sent him took fifteen minutes to compose.
small stories about love 