We had roast beef on rye deli sandwiches in Frankston Park, his treat. There were tiny tubs of pasta salad and coleslaw, which we both devoured. Seated on a wrought-iron park bench overlooking the Ohio River, we studied a barge filled with coal, heading downriver and into Ohio. Slowly, it glided over the wintry, gray-blue surface of the icy water, pushed by a tugboat painted a bright red and called Cecille. The afternoon felt stunning. I couldn’t think of anything better than sitting next to a handsome man, chatting about everyday things and our personal lives. How thrilling it felt that the sun decided to come out and play, entertaining us with its golden-yellow rays of warmth, attempting to burn off wintertime and wanting a fresh start at spring.
Perhaps it caught me off guard when he a
