The music drifted out, slow and romantic. "Which is this?"
"'The Rose.' It's a ballad—a standard, I suppose, even today."
"Do you like to dance?"
"Do you like to dance?"
"Yes. I don't often, but…"
Her words trailed away as he gathered her close.
Her words trailed away as he gathered her close.
"Cal—"
"Shh." He rubbed his cheek against her hair. "I want to hear the words."
They danced—swayed, really—as the music drifted through the speakers. A mother with two squabbling children rested her elbow on her table and watched them with pleasure and envy.
In the glassed in kitchen a man with a bushy mustache tossed pizza dough in quick, high twirls.
"It's sad."
"No." She could dream like this, with her head cushioned on his shoulder and
her body moving to their inner rhythm.
her body moving to their inner rhythm.
"It's about how love survives."
Time Was
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