I had insisted. It was the solstice, meant to be enjoyed outdoors. He brought his glass of wine and I'd brought my bowl of blueberries, feeding him every third or fourth one in what probably should have been an embarrassing way. If I wasn't over that by now.
Little kids were running around on the roof, babbling nonsense, and someone somewhere was smoking pot. How do you know when kids get a contact high if they act like this all the time?
The sun went down on the longest day of the year, the day's heat coming from below now, oozing back out from the concrete and metal. He kissed me. Then he kissed me for real.
And. . . fireworks. Big, literal, professional fireworks. Directly in front of us, perfectly timed.
Writing is hard, these days. We both feel it now that we're in the part of the romantic comedy that happens after the credits roll. But fireworks? The sequel to our first movie is straight to video.