The Past Isn t Dead It Isn t Even Past
I finished drying my hands as she put the last dish on the drying rack. She put her hand on my upper arm and said, “Let’s have a glass of wine and chat.” I smiled back at her smile, pleasantly surprised at the contact, which she had studiously avoided during the last two weeks. As we walked past the table, she said, “Thank you for helping me wash up.”“Thank you for the dinner. It was very good.”She nodded, “Of course.”I held the kitchen door open for her and watched her as she walked gracefully...
Interracial