Day Two, Treatment Three. Lily lay on fluffy, white towels, an
eyepatch blacking out the afternoon sun. Cutting out sight was
meant to help empty the mind. Perhaps it was working. Unlike her
last frantic days at the ad agency, Lily now had only one thought
circling under her brunette curls: I'm glad I'm not paying for
this rubbish.
The door opened and she heard the rustle of a crisply-starched
tunic. Was it Frieda, whose French manicure had had Lily stealthily
curling her chewed nails into her palms; or Bea, all tight control,
every hair scraped back into submission?
"Hello, Lily. I'm Ben."His voice was dark mocha, its mellow
timbre oozing into her muscles, coaxing them to loosen. "Let's have
some music."
A moment later, the inevitable, breathy notes of a pan pipe
began, and an Amazonian bird chirruped in counterpoint. Lily
sighed. Pink Floyd would have been her pick for relaxation. That,
or more of Ben's voice.
A stool creaked beside her and wide inches of warm, dry palm
covered her right hand. Her muscles melted a little further. This
man must be the spa's secret weapon, only dispatched when algal
body scrubs and chakra balancing failed.
"Now, Lily, today we're going to weave a powerful, personal
visualisation for you. I want you to tell me the things that make
you happy."
One word came to her. "Chocolate."
Soon, she'd be launching her homemade chocolate business. The
agency had dispensed with her services and this spa weekend was a
farewell gift, assuaging her managers' guilt that she'd left with
so little fuss. In truth, she'd been grateful for the push.
"Chocolate," he repeated. "Excellent. What else, Lily?"
Her mind went blank. After chocolate, there wasn't much.
"Things that bring you a rosy glow," Ben encouraged.
What were the favourite things Julie Andrews had sung about all
those years ago? "Raindrops on r-" she caught herself. "Er, on
roofs. Tin roofs," she recovered.
"Marvellous sound, isn't it?" he agreed. His hand squeezed hers
gently. A tiny crick dissolved in her neck. "We can really work
with that."
Yes, please.
"I like kittens," she offered.
"Great."
"And well-polished pans."
"Bright copper, I suppose."
Was he onto her?
"Copper-bottomed," she answered firmly. "And on a cold day, I
like toasty hands."
"In warm, woollen mittens?"
Busted.
She felt a grin take over her face. "Have I mentioned crisp
apple strudels?"
"No, but I'm betting there'll be schnitzel with noodles." The
smile in his words was like the promise of Cointreau hidden in a
liqueur centre.
Lily ripped off the eyepatch and sat up. Ooh, his skin and eyes
were both cocoa-dark.
"We haven't done the visualisation yet," he objected.
"But I have. I'm visualising you, me, white chocolate, a fine
sherry, Mission Bay."
"So the chocolate bit was genuine?"
"Ben, I never joke about chocolate."
"What time then?"
"How about tomorrow at sunset, since you're into rosy
glows?"
"I am," he laughed. "I'll be there."
THE END
© Sarah Wilshaw-Sparkes 2006
This story came first in a
competition sponsored by Rosy Glow Chocolates and organised by the
Nelson chapter of Romance Writers of New Zealand. Entries had to be
500 words long and contain the words "a rosy glow". Sarah's prize
was 2.25kg of handmade boutique chocolates and RWNZ membership for
a year - perfect!