The perfect house

As soon as Leesa walked in she knew it was the place. ‘It’s perfect. Just the right size. And it’s a real house, not just a shack.’

The secluded location was ideal. There’d be no one to disturb them.

As they went from room to room—five in all, kitchen, bath, a small living area and a cosy bedroom—their excitement grew. ‘Yeah,’ said Cameron, who didn’t generally say a lot, ‘it’s the one alright.’

When they reached the bedroom Leesa wrapped him tight and waited for the spark in his eyes. He dug his fingers into her buttock and drew her up and they allowed themselves a moment’s rapture.

‘We’ve got everything we need,’ he said. It was a half question.

‘Sure.’ She handed him the bottle, its silky liquid catching the light through the window. ‘The sun’s about to set. Come on. Let’s go up on the hill to watch.’

They stepped into the crisp valley air outside. Cameron uncapped the bottle. He pulled a rag from his pocket and stuffed it tight into the neck. Within minutes they’d be on the rise opposite, enthralled by each other and by the beautiful crackle and spark and glow as the old timbers blazed in the night.

2011—Richard Holt / small stories about love (