safe.
Like coming home at night and seeing the porch light already turned on.
We met when we were twenty-three.
In a grocery store.
Very romantic.
I was standing in the dairy aisle trying to choose milk when I reached for a carton of two percent.
Someone else reached for the same carton at exactly the same time.
Our hands touched.
I looked up.
Tall man.
Messy brown hair.
Glasses.
A shopping basket containing an embarrassing number of frozen pizzas.
“Oh,” he said. “Sorry. You take it.”
“No, you take it.”
“You were first.”
“No, you were.”
He laughed.
“You saw me?”
“You were reading yogurt labels for three minutes.”
“They’re confusing.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“How?”
“Why does some yogurt have fruit mixed in and other yogurt hide all the fruit at the bottom? Who decided that?”
I laughed.
Ten minutes later, we were sitting in the café across
