an envelope from her bag.
I remembered that too late.
“Guess each other at thirty,” she read. “Then open the envelope.”
“That seems unfair. We already know.”
“Then it should be easy.”
I looked at her profile, the small line between her brows, the scuff on her jacket cuff. I could have described her work, her plants, her insistence that any good plan improved when begun before sunrise. Instead, I found myself choosing details with the strange care people used when they wanted to be understood as understanding.
“You build
