He sat beside, a little too far perhaps. This explains why he spent far too long getting situated, scooching this way and that. But he finally became still, or at least as still as he gets. I giggled at the dancing shadow caused by the morning sun sneaking around his perpetually rocking foot.

“You don’t do much soaking, do you?” I teased. So hard to resist.

His smile still trickled along with his words, “No, but I’m a fast learner.” Like a great, flesh-colored beast his hand seemed to be creeping through the narrow stretch of grass separating us. I pretended not to notice, which wasn’t hard to do, the sunrise being so lovely, so inspired.

Apparently inspired, his hand found mine, one delicate finger tracing circles on the back of my hand, mapping routes between acquaintance and affection. He wasn’t talking, but I could swear I still heard a smile. Losing the battle to hide my own grin, I stole a glance, his face awash in morning light and the unmistakable glow of hope.

Perfection.