For the Next-Gen Drabble Tag!
Dominique & Seamus. Sand.
"Wait, wait, are you that Seamus Finnigan?"
"Which?" The man in front of her, the one she'd been flirting shamelessly with the whole night, narrowed his eyes in confusion.
It couldn't possibly be true, could it? Oh, it was just her usual luck, running into an old family friend…well, one that she only had been told of, as he had moved to…somewhere (that's what you get for paying attention, dear) after the war, when she had thought she had finally left everything behind her, when she finally was going to be alone.
And, oh no, now it all came back to her like a short drink—had she really been bending forward when he was going to introduce himself so that he could get a better view down her dress? She wanted to kill herself, right now and right here.
"…I think you've heard of my parents," she said and pursed her lips. Inside her head, though, she was screaming. How big was the chance that you'd run into someone you knew at a freaking resort in freaking Spain? Like, really, it wasn't even funny.
:::
Half an hour later, though, when she had sand in her hair, sand everywhere, and the two of them were lying next to each other, his eyes glinting, and a giggle bubbling in her throat, it was rather funny.