Came for me

I didn’t expect Shabbat to come looking for me. Usually I’m the one trying to peek over all the heads in the room, wondering when he’ll arrive. This week I didn’t want to bother with the crowds. I went straight home, opened the door. Stepped inside—and there he was.

Fire in his eyes, hair oiled back, and—was that cologne? “You came to me,” I said quietly, unaccountably pleased.

He didn’t answer, but instead stepped forward until I was pressed against the closed door. We were so close that the tips of our noses brushed. I tried to recognize the scent he was wearing.

The kisses of his mouth were warmer than the summer evening.

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