SEIZE the day
On a freezing January morning, the man I’d been ogling from afar for the best part of six months suddenly stopped jogging along the park’s footpath, and strode towards me. He crouched in front of 18-month-old Jay and three-year-old Amelia while I stood looking on, completely flabbergasted by this turn of events.
‘Is this yours?’ he asked.
Jay beamed. ‘Penguin!’ His chubby little hand seized the soft toy’s tummy and he giggled when the penguin peeped.
The man pointed. ‘He was by that tree, taking a nap by the lake.’
I sank into the man’s chocolate-brown eyes, grinning insanely at him, unable to conjure up even a word to say.
He was the same age as me, or thereabouts, and his legs were solid and muscular.
He waited for me to speak. His smile revealed an endearing crooked front tooth. I was hot and sweaty, like it was me who was working out and not him.
‘Thanks… so much,’ I stammered. ‘Penguin goes
