15
AlmaAmos takes my hand as we leave the fondue restaurant. I rub my stomach with my free hand. It hurts, it’s so full, but I might’ve been able to fit a few more bites in. The food was fantastic.
“So, where are we going?” I ask.
We stroll through Ann Arbor past many of the University of Michigan campus buildings. This place was Amos’s stomping ground for four years during his undergrad. I’m actually not too familiar with U of M’s campus. As close as it is to Eastern’s campus, where I went to college, I didn’t spend much time here. Amos always came to me.
“We’re just walking,” he says with a grin.
My hand in his feels nice, comfortable. Amos has always made me feel safe.
We veer off the sidewalk when we reach a small park. It’s quaint with a handful of old oak trees, some bushes, an
