Interstice.

Through the smoke I watched you laugh, your eyes lit up like the wick of a Roman candle, throwing sparks wild and bright in every direction. She met your glow with a low reply, gazing up with heavy-lidded eyes until you quieted, and through the smoke I watched you place a ginger hand on her knee, and just as gingerly remove it.

*****

The sky was spotless but the air crisp, the wind just cold enough to whip invisible ice crystals against our skin, our bodies just warm enough to melt whatever frost was trying to build between us. You turned toward me laughing, the embers catching in the eddies swirling around us. “I think we’d make the best parents,” you told me joyfully. “I think we should get married and have perfect children together.”

Here my laughter joined yours, rising and falling like the leaves in the air. “Are you kidding me? What kind of nutcase would I have to be to marry you?” And still I was shrilly laughing, though yours had quieted somewhat.

“What do you mean?” your smile slackening, the light in your eyes slowly unfocusing. But either I didn’t notice or I was being intentionally cruel.

“I mean that no woman in her right mind would marry a man who falls in love with every girl he meets.” With that the fire died, the realization heavy like our sudden silence. And shivering in the wind I quickly grabbed your hand and led you home, cracking jokes like the frost beneath our feet.