“Then let’s try.”
“No promises we can’t keep?”
“No performances.”
“No pretending.”
“Just real.”
She smiled.
“Just real.”
I leaned toward her and kissed her.
It wasn’t the kind of kiss that made me forget where I was.
It was the kind that made me grateful to be exactly where I was.
When I pulled away, Diane kept her eyes closed for a moment.
Then she opened them and rested her forehead against mine.
“That,” she whispered, “was worth being frightened for.”
The months that followed were not a fairy tale.
They were better than that.
They were ordinary days made meaningful by the person I shared them with.
I rebuilt the back fence in cedar. Diane designed a new outdoor dining table, and I built it from white oak. We argued about the dimensions, laughed about the finish, and finally agreed that neither of us had been entirely right.
