“These were on sale,” he said.
“Of course they were.”
I put them in a Mason jar.
We ate, talked about the rising price of lumber, and laughed about the terrible coffee at the diner downtown.
Then the power went out.
Graham used his phone flashlight while I searched the pantry for candles.
I climbed onto my toes to reach a box.
My foot slipped.
His hand caught my back.
“Careful.”
I turned toward him.
We were close enough that I could see a tiny scar above his eyebrow.
Neither of us moved.
Then the refrigerator came humming back to life.
I nearly dropped the candles.
“Well,” I said, “that was dramatic.”
He smiled, but something had changed.
We both knew it. we did
A few days later, I ran into him at a hardware store.
He helped me choose walnut stain for Dad’s old bench.
We were discussing sandpaper when Tom Barlow, a retired contractor, wandered over.
