On the radio, Nat King Cole was singing Only You. Rain was falling against the living room window, not hard, but in a steady cadence, almost like a heartbeat. Neither of us had said anything for several minutes, although maybe it was longer, I'm really not sure. There was nothing awkward about the silence; there was no pressing need for words.
As the song finished, you looked at me with that look you have. In the semidarkness of the room, your eyes were luminous dark pools, reflecting the light from the lamp, magnifying it, and sending it to me. You smiled and I wondered if you could see my smile. Your head was tilted just a bit and I couldn't resist moving my lips so close to yours that they could no longer be distinguished from your own. Their meeting seemed as inevitable as a sunset, both ordinary and special at the same time.
How much more time passed I didn't know. Finally, you said it was late and time we got ready for bed. As I followed you upstairs, I was still thinking about the kiss. I wondered how it could be, after all these years, that each one reminded me of our first.
But then you turned to see if I was behind you on the stairs and I knew how it could be.