Henry didn’t think about kissing her; he just did it. The moment their lips met he could think of a hundred reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this, but instead he chose to simply savor the experience, as meek and simple as it was. She offered no resistance, and her eyes were glistening with fresh moisture when she opened them to look at him. He couldn’t keep himself from kissing her again.

Henry finally forced himself to some measure of rational thinking and drew away, turning to look straight ahead. He cleared his throat much louder than necessary and said, “Forgive me. That was completely inappropriate, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He felt the sting of tears in his eyes as he wondered if that would be the first and last time he would ever kiss her.

“Your apology is completely unconvincing,” she said. “I don’t believe a word of it.”

Henry looked at her abruptly, even though he knew that meant she would be able to see the tears in his eyes. “How well you read me,” he said. “I must confess . . . I’m not sorry at all. I can’t dispute that it was inappropriate, but how can I regret it?”

She looked at him long and hard, as if she were desperately searching for something to say that might help assuage the wave of grief rushing over him. He was surprised by the way she put her free hand to the side of his face while she kissed his other cheek. She looked at him again and her voice cracked as she said, “Good-bye, Henry. If our paths cross again, it must be merely as friends . . . acquaintances. This must be the last time we speak of such things. I will never forget you.”

She stood up and walked away, and he found himself completely incapable of going after her. There was nothing he could think of to say that might change her mind. The helplessness he felt had left him stunned and immobile. Knowing that he was completely alone and no one could possibly see him, he hung his head and pressed his face into his hands, weeping as if he’d just received news of the death of a loved one.

* * * *