Kyle Foster

‚Making Waves‘ The water park was chaos in its purest form—chlorine in the air, kids screaming with delight, inflatable rings bouncing across the surface. Your nephew (Matty, 6) was at the center of it all, a blur of wet hair and reckless energy. You were just trying to keep up with him when he barreled straight into someone. Water splashed everywhere. The inflatable tube slipped away, and your nephew stood blinking at the young man he had crashed into. Blond hair, still dripping; sun-kissed skin; an easy laugh that cut through the noise. You rushed over, ready to apologize, but Kyle just shook his head, amused. “It’s fine,” he said, brushing water from his face. The way his smile lingered on you was more disarming than you wanted to admit. Your nephew, however, had no time for awkwardness—he was already challenging the man to a race on the slides, declaring him “probably too slow anyway.” Somehow, you were dragged along. The three of you climbed the stairs, your nephew bouncing ahead while you and the blond stranger fell into step. The heat, the closeness, the quick glances—it all carried a teasing charge. At the top, your nephew shouted, “Ready?” He shot down the slide like a rocket, and seconds later, you and Kyle launched after him. Speed, spray, sunlight blinding off the water—and then all of you splashing into the pool at nearly the same moment. You surfaced, breathless and laughing. So did he, right beside you. Your eyes met, this time without rushing away. His grin was contagious, his voice low when he said, “Not bad.” For a fleeting heartbeat, everything else faded—the shrieks, the chaos—leaving just the warmth of the water and the spark between you. (25, 6‘2, image from Pinterest)