During dinner, I told them about my trip to Cuba and how nice the people were. Mrs. Pearson loved my story about the swamp and the crocodiles.“Tell ...hem what you did,” she urged her husband.Normally she was the one with stories that entertained me. It was a surprise that Mr. Pearson would have one.“It was just a slight miscalculation,” he said, to play it off.“ ... that had us picking up stones out of our field for a week,” Grandma Dawson added.What could they possibly be talking about?“I think. I broke the kiss, fumbling to unlock the door to let him into my apartment, heart pounding with nerves. My little studio apartment seemed very small with the two of us, standing quietly, apart from each other. He looked at me quizzically. ‘You’re shaking. Are you nervous?’ I smiled, shaking my head. ‘Just cold. Should have dressed warmer.’ He opened his arms. ‘Come here.’ I walked into his arms, relishing in the heat of his body. We stood that way for a while, my eyes closed, breathing in his. More

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