When Harry Met Callie

By Absolutely*Kate & Harry B. Sanderford

When Harry met Callie he was wearing soft blue worn jeans, a plain white T-shirt and a sailboat . . . nothing more, nothing less, but that was plenty a lot for Callie. When Callie met Harry she was wearing the modest half of a silver bikini and sputtering  salt water onto that plain white T in response to the CPR he administered after fishing this most exotic creature from the clear blue Caribbean. Callie was lost in finding Harry's eyes as clear blue as the Caribbean while a mixed mouthful of sputter signals sensated from his particular CPR technique. Did the Red Cross really advocate massage therapy? "Do'n'n'n't stop," she purred thinking she'd shivered against his timber. Oh but to gauge the timber of a man. 't'was Callie's heart revived but Harry's cheeks that colored, and as first aid rounded second base it would be his own rusty heart to beat free of his chest and flap helplessly upon the deck for the beautiful nymph plucked from the sea. Under the strain of voyaging, this sea goddess of Aphrodite knew that many sailors through the ages have seen in the ocean the embodiment of their deepest fears and desires. This mortal who'd plucked her from sea and lucked her heart free, seemed so the reel-deal. Nothing about the way his strength exuded and his emotions protruded let her feel he'd zeal just for the halibut. Would her mermaiden secret be safe 'pon his deck? Callie decided this mortal grasping her pelvic and pectoral might just be her Adonis. Nothing ventured nothing gained, she allowed Harry to glimpse not the silvery bikini bottom, but instead revealed her actual tarpon type tail fins; the sight of which left Harry not knowing whether to heave-to, fall off, or run (it had been a very long time). Smitten though he was, he finally decided he knew when to fish or cut bait....and it was at that moment they hit the reef.