This little piece was inspired by a writing prompt on the The Writer’s App. Since we’ve had such lovely weather, I felt like writing something light with the possibility of romance. Hope you enjoy it!

The sizzling summer temperatures were causing all sorts of actions and reactions in the normally sleepy village in which Abigail had lived for the last five years.

Pavements shimmered under the relentless rays of the sun, which squatted in the sky like a fiery toad, dominating the deep blue and making people’s eyes tear up from its sheer pulsating brilliance. Those few braving the burning rays during the day walked with their heads down, eyes squinting even behind dark sunglasses.

After a certain YouTube video went viral, looking down had become a prerequisite. Fried eggs now spotted the pavement, as teenagers on their summer holidays with nothing better to do experimented with what they could cook on its burning, melting surface. It turned out it was also hot enough to fry courgette and tomato slices, and to melt cheese, making walking precarious at best. New crispy food items appeared as the days and weeks passed and there was no sign of the sun ever leaving its dominant perch.

Tempers and temperatures (ah-hem) were also rising in the village – tiffs and trysts were on the rise, and new scandals were gossiped about at the local shop almost daily.

As Abigail wandered slowly back from her weekly shop in the barely cooling evening, trying to eat an ice lolly before it melted down her her hand and onto her bare legs, she found herself walking past two arguments and one very enthusiastic make up.

Olivia Beerman bustled up to her front gate as she saw Abigail passing. Her thin frame was hidden by a flimsy kaftan billowing around her as she bustled, and her mouth was pursed.

“Hello, Abigail dear.” she called, her greeting ending on a long sigh. Abigail stopped, lowering her bag for a rest as she prepared to be polite. The sigh was less of a hint and more of a command – you better ask me what’s wrong.

“Hello Olivia, anything the matter?” Abigail’s sentence ended on a slurp as she saw a particularly large drip heading south. She began her patented hoover suction technique (this involved an intricate powerful suction with the mouth, while breathing through the nose to avoid any loss of suction – she wondered if it was anything like playing the didgeridoo), while she waited for Olivia to get to the point.

Olivia seemed a little put out by this display, if the raised eyebrow and sniff were anything to go by, but clearly her news was more important than Abigail’s lack of femininity, as she continued her conversation. The older woman had her grey hair caught up in a yellow silk scarf, and usually looked chic and composed. Unfortunately, the tinted sunscreen she had used on her face had creeped into the lines and wrinkles, leaving yellow lines in the flesh, which Abigail could see clearly as the woman leaned closer.

“Oh, it’s just such an exasperating situation.” She tutted before continuing. “If you see Margaret on your way home could you please pass on a message for me?”

Abigail paused in her hoovering, surprised. “Well, yes, she is only three doors down. I can see her on her front porch now…”

Olivia’s mouth pursed even more, and her lips disappeared into the puckered skin (not a good look). “I know dear, but unfortunately we aren’t on speaking terms at the moment. Did you know she forgot to water my hydrangeas while I was away last week? And now just look at them…”

She waved an arm theatrically at a sad, brown bush. A number of crispy, browned-at-the-edges petals lay on the ground underneath the bush, but there were none left on it.

“Oh dear, that’s unfortunate…” began Abigail.

“Yes, and to top it off, she’s still got my prize geranium that I lent her in the Spring, and she’s refusing to give it back! Please could you ask her to return it at her earliest convenience.” Olivia emphasised the ‘earliest’ in her sentence, her pitch and volume rising until by the end it was a shriek. Abigail was pretty sure Margaret had heard that without any help from her.

“Well, if I see her…” Abigail replied and quickly picked up her bag, preparing for a quick exit. The last thing she wanted was to get involved in a feud between the two busiest of busybodies in the village.

As she passed Margaret, she heard her yell, “You tell Miss Hoity-Toity that this geranium was a gift. And I’m not giving anything back until she returns my casserole dish!” Margaret’s much more substantial frame quivered as she raised her voice to match Olivia’s volume.

Then Abigail made a fatal mistake. She raised her ice lolly-bedecked hand in acknowledgement and took her eyes off the pavement. At that moment, her foot came down on a particularly slippery strip of courgette, and she started to fall. Pin-wheeling her hands she managed to avoid a face-plant, landing on one knee. She heaved a shaky sigh of relief, glad to have avoided the third degree burns was likely to have picked up from the tarmac. As it was, her knee felt like it had been seared on a BBQ.

“What the hell?”

At the sound of a very deep, gravelly masculine exclamation she whipped her head around… and realised that the last of her ice lolly was now decorating a man’s dark head. She watched as the stick slid down his hair and landed on his shoulder, and a sticky orange drip ran down his forehead to his nose.

“Oooohhh, I am so sorry,” Abigail stuttered, staggering upright and frantically searching for a tissue. He did not look happy, and with everyone’s tempers at breaking point already, she felt a qualm when he strode towards her.

Finally finding her tissues, she handed them out to him, gabbling about the slippery courgette. His glare continued for a moment, but she could see him decide to go for humour rather than anger, and his face softened, giving way to a rueful smile. “I would have preferred to have eaten the ice lolly rather than wear it.” he said as he mopped at the mess. As she stared up at him (he was impressively tall, maybe even 6 feet), Abigail felt an impulse, a tickle of adventure, an urge to do something she would never usually do. Something daring.

“Maybe I could make it up to you. Let me buy you an ice lolly sometime. I promise I won’t make you wear it!” She tilted her head and tried out her flirty smile (it hadn’t seen the light of day in quite a while, so she hoped it wasn’t more of a grimace). He paused, surprised, then his smile became a grin. “Why not?” he said.

Abigail carried on down the street to her house after exchanging names and numbers, and found herself lingering on the memory of his dark eyes, thick dark hair, crooked smile and particularly well-built body. Now she was feeling hot under the collar – it looked like the summer was getting to her too. Things were about to get steamy!