He sets the first drawing down and lifts the second; a back view of the log castle. “Looks like you keep busy. And you do nice work. I’d buy this. I’m impressed. You’re not hurting in the pocket book, are you?”
It’s somewhat presumptions for him to say, but I don’t mind. “I get by. Just like everyone else in the world. The drawings pay the bills.”
“Moving and shaking. This is how we all survive.” He returns the sketch to the drawing table and faces me. I think we’re going to hug and kiss because our eyes become tangled and locked, and we’re only inches apart. We stay this way for quite some time. A year. Maybe two. At least this is what it feels like. His breath brushes my lips and cheeks and eyelashes. And he leaves me thinking: Kiss me! Kiss me! Kiss me! Make this real for me. Please!
