When I lifted my hand in greeting, he did the same, and that unguarded smile I sometimes got glimpses of made an appearance. His face was open, obviously glad to see me, and I wanted to do something ridiculous like wolf-whistle. The weight of the week, the pressure of knowing that getting justice for that young woman rested on my shoulders...all of that lightened a bit now that I’d seen him.

I stood at the corner, waiting for the light to change, focused on him. There was so much to take in. His locs were coiled on top of his head today, giving me a clear view of his face. He was wearing dark jeans and black Chelsea boots, his gloved hands in his navy pea coat, a bright yellow scarf wrapped around his neck. That big body at rest, waiting for me. It was all I could not to run to him.

When the light changed I started walking, and he pushed off the wall to meet me. My heart pounded as I got close, and I took a moment to revel in the fact that I had butterflies in my stomach. I got to him and stopped just a couple of feet short of where he stood. “Hi.”

“How are you not freezing?” he asked, his lips turned up in a tiny smile. I lifted a shoulder and looked down at myself.

“I guess I’m not that cold,” I said distractedly, too focused on how close we were and that I wasn’t kissing him.

I wasn’t sure how to greet him. I wanted to kiss him, but I didn’t know how that would be received. I could see in his face that he was debating something too.

After a moment, his expression grew determined, then he moved closer and pressed his lips to mine, putting the question to rest. I immediately put my hand behind his head to bring him closer to me. I pressed my palm to the back of his neck, my eyes closed as I kissed him, feeling the warm skin of his neck, face and shoulders.

Our breaths mingled and I marveled at what was happening, I was kissing Patrice on a street corner and he was kissing me back, his arms tight around me. I should’ve been terrified, because this feeling, this would hurt whenever it went away. Instead I licked into his mouth, just once, to taste. When we pulled back I had my eyes closed, still reveling in the feeling, and when I finally opened them, the way Patrice was looking at me almost made me swoon.

He held my hand as he angled his head to the bar door. “Shall we?”

The urge to say, “I’d go anywhere with you by the hand,” was on the tip on my tongue.

But I kept it short, cautious not to break the spell by, as Tyren would say, “doing the most.”

“Let’s go.”