Chapter 4
The first thing I notice, as though it has already become the feature that allows me to pick her out of any crowd, is her lipstick. Surely I must have come across this shade on many a woman in my life, but on Leila, it looks extra special. It makes her face come completely alive. Maybe it’s what it suggests—a fierce, unquestionable love of life—that, ironically, draws me to it with such force.
Leila’s wearing jeans again, but this time with a low-cut V-neck sweater. In my book, it doesn’t really pass as dressed up, but at least I didn’t go to too much effort myself this time.
After she closes the door, she bends toward me and plants the lightest, briefest, quickest kiss on my cheek. I’m not even sure it qualifies as a kiss, so barely-there is it. But a whiff of her scent linge
