Page 14 of Swim To Me

With the way she’d been trembling with nerves on the infirmary bed, I didn’t have much faith I’d ever hear from Delilah.

Embarrassment had run hot through me at the idea I’d shot my shot… and lost it.

But then last Saturday rolled around and I found myself with her mobile number and a text staring back at me.

Delilah wanted swimming lessons. Not exactly a date but still, I’ll take it to see her again.

“You offer one-on-one services here, don’t you?”

I resist the urge to scrub at the aching point between each of my eyebrows. If I’ve had this conversation once with this woman and her fingerful of twirling hair, I’ve had it a thousand times.Not only that, but she can swim! Not strongly, but still… she won’t give up hope that I’ll offer to teach her.

“Yes, we offer one-on-oneswimmingservices here. You can request at the front desk and—”

“But every time I request, they tell me you’re not available MrMillen.”

I stare back at her, unphased by the tiny bikini she wears. “I work with only a very select few. All of the other swim coaches here are fully first aid trained and extremely patient, so please go see the front desk and they can point you in the right direction.”

“But… listen.” The redhead in front of me tries for a different direction, sensing she’s not getting very far.

She hasn’t gotten very far in the past couple of weeks that she’s actively tried to engage me in conversation.

“My name’s Sienna and I really think—”

“You’re needed, Millen.”

Saved by my colleague. Thank fuck.

Peering over my shoulder, I give a nod of thanks to the lifeguard on duty, Monroe, for saving my arse. Behind him, I can see the wiggling line of children beginning to line up, not so patiently, beside the shallow baby pool railing.

I turn back around to the redheaded Sienna, dismissing her as politely as I can with one last sentence. “My next class is starting, so I’ve got to go, please see the front desk for any more help.”

I don’t watch to see if she goes, instead removing myself from the uncomfortable situation and heading towards my next class of pupils. For health and safety reasons we always have at leasttwo swim teachers present in each class, so at least Miss Peters is already there to cover my back, seeing as how I was previously occupied – see: stuck – but I need to grab the children’s small attention spans quickly before they wander off.

“Okay! Everybody look,” I point to my own eyes, “and listen!” I tug at my earlobe, waiting patiently for the group to fall silent or as silent as twelve children, ranging from four to six years old, can be.

“Miss Peters is going to give each of you a colour. I need you all to listen!” Again, I tap the shell of my ear. “And to walk, remember,walk,to that coloured mat on the floor to find your team. One at a time. Okay?”

Just off to my left, Miss Peters, kitted out in her bright lifeguard attire, waves comically, grasping the children’s attention. I see two of the smallest children glance nervously to the three different coloured spots on the floor and I make a mental note to keep an eye on both of them.

After the second child, the tallest boy in the class, has been given his colour and dutifully walks towards it, I nod, happy with the way the class is picking up today’s instructions.

I glance down at the watch on my wrist, something, if I’m being completely honest with myself, I’ve been compulsively doing all day. Even more so than usual.

5:55 PM.

Delilah should be here any minute if she’s still planning on turning up.

Delilah, the woman who I’m paid to teach how to swim. Delilah, the woman who I saved from almost drowning. Delilah, the woman who is seriously too attractive for her own good and someone I find myself wanting to—

Giving myself a mental shake, reminding myself where the hell I am, I leave the class of children in Miss Peters capable hands, unable to fight the urge to move, in a pitiful attemptto clear my mind. I tread past the empty viewing area, past the main swimming pool, which isn’t too busy – two older gentlemen and a woman dot the space, each in their own lane, minding their own business – and head straight to the cupboard right at the back of the pool, where the floaties, pool noodles, and brightly coloured toys are typically kept.

The oversized clock above seems to mock me, ticking louder and louder until I finally just crane my neck to fucking look up at the thing.

5:58 PM.

Tucking three foam pool noodles under my arm, I leave a stack of floaters off to the side for later on, lock everything back up tight and begin to drag the net bag filled with rubber ducks and squawking chickens across the grooved floor back towards the excited sounding class—

From across the main swimming pool, I clock eyes on her.

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