widened.
“What?”
“You look beautiful.”
The words came out before I could improve them into something less vulnerable.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you.”
Then, after a beat, “You look better without groceries around your feet.”
“I dressed for the occasion.”
We ordered coffee. At the pastry stand, she recommended a cinnamon twist with the certainty of someone prepared to stake her reputation on butter. I bought one, and she watched my first bite with exaggerated seriousness.
“Well?”
“I may need another to form a
