tonight i wore flip flops and we jumped puddles in the rain along federal hill. insides warmed from a steaming, frothy spiced chai, i barely noticed the february chill. to dry off a bit, we sat at a tiny table for two right next to the fireplace, the wood of which crackled audibly over the scraping of chairs along the tiled floor and ice clinking in sparklingly clean, reflection-bearing glasses. mountainous cakes and piles of delicately rich cookies were served on dark plates sprinkled with confectioner's sugar under criss-cross drizzles of raspberry chocolate syrup. soft lights set pastiche aglow, emanating through the windows and casting shadows on the muraled wall. indoor flowerboxes teemed with red-tinged tulips and lofty ferns. my spoon swept the nutmeg and cinnamon spices in swirls in an oversized mug and there were two forks for one towering piece of chocolate cream pie.
on the way home the rain beat steadily against the windows. as the windshield wipers incessantly swayed, i said something that made you laugh - what exactly, i can't even remember. sitting shotgun, i saw it out of the corner of my eye. your smile caught me off guard. we splashed through puddles and the heat was as high as it could go and everything was perfect and nothing hurt.