Age Gap Flash Fiction

She’s a Fireball, that girl next door.

An innocent, sweet girl, she is the stuff of an old man’s forbidden fantasies. But it turns out there’s nothing innocent about her intentions.

Emma sat next to me quietly at the baseball game. She didn’t seem overly interested in the game and leaned against me. She hadn’t had a father figure in her life, so over the past 6 years, I had reluctantly filled the roll. I remember the day she showed up as I was working in my wood shop.

“What are you doing, Joe?” she asked. Pretty brazen, for what was at the time a 13-year-old girl.

“Mr. Watson,” I corrected her.

“I like Joe better. Is it short for Joseph?” She asked, now interested in my work.

“No, just Joe. My mother wasn’t creative. I have a brother, Matt, and a sister, Jan.”

“Why are you always out here? Don’t you have a job?”

I straightened up and took her in. A mop of curly red hair, about 4 feet tall and full of piss and vinegar.

“I’m 62, I’m retired, but I still do some cabinets off and on for extra money.”