The water seemed to hover on the great expanse of the Delaware river, almost like a blue sheet caught horizontally in the wind. It was mesmerizing in an ordinary way, but I was stuck on it. The wind blew frigid air in every uncomfortable direction, and I shuddered in my light cardigan, cursing myself for forgetting my jacket on a day like this.

I could feel his eyes on me- a locked stare that made me shrink inside myself. His hand was on my knee, his fingers gently finding themselves into the gaping hole where the denim had torn away, exposing my skin.

“You must be freezing,” he said with concern.

“Not really,” I lied. He reached over to tug on his scarf, and wrapped it snugly around my shoulders. It was a little better, I had to admit. His arm lingered around me, pulling me closer. His other hand reached into his coat pocket, extracting a copy of Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer.

“Would you read to me?” He asked.

I couldn’t possibly say no.