Lara lies on the picnic blanket, stretching her arms over her head.
The sun glares down from the sky; its blistering heat drains her of all strength and energy. That’s fine, though. She’s got nowhere else to be.
‘Lara!’ Tom yells from the lake. Without opening her eyes, she lifts a hand to wave at him.
‘Come for a swim!’ His voice is thin and tinny, sounds like he’s miles away.
Lara sits upright. There he is, all chest and broad shoulders, standing in the lake. It’s a short stroll through the woodsy growth, past the BBQ and the family playing cricket, and the sunbathing couple. She waves again, hoping he gets the message: she’s happy resting.
He’s out of the water now, running towards her. It’s straight out of a Bond film. Actually he could easily replace Daniel Craig as 007. Tom’s lithe, muscular and oh so handsome. But in a rugged way, like all the Bonds—they’re never symmetrical and normal-looking.
Tom reaches her in no time. He stands over her, dripping water all over the blanket and picnic basket. And her.
‘Tom,’ she says, laughing. ‘You’re getting me all wet.’
‘Good. You’re supposed to be swimming with me anyway.’
He scoops her in his arms and carries her, like a bride over the threshold, all the way to lake. Once there, he throws her into the deep water, ignoring her squeals and giggles. He dives under the water, swims towards her, and kisses her as they both rise up for air.
Lara wraps her arms around his neck and sighs with delight.