Wordlessly, we closed our distance. The delicate lady in lace-up heels kept her head down, burying her flushed face in my neck. I was seventeen, and she seemed around my age. Anyone who saw us surely thought we were lovers. I looked up at the lights of Montreal against the sky, and pulled her close as the wind picked up. The chilly breeze, her warm touch—how I froze, how I burned!
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The music stopped, and the love of my dreams brought her face to mine, to plant a kiss or say a sweet nothing. Her lips chose neither as she stepped back and beamed a smile that said everything.
