I speak softly, relying on the steam of my breath to carry the words to where he waits at the foot of the platform.“Neither should you.”Here in the alley, we are protected from the more brutal force of the wind, but the air remains bitter cold, sharp, and dry, and there is enough of a breeze to flutter the loose edges of his coat.“You need to go,” I warn, but in response, he only moves closer, takes one last drag on his cigarette, and drops it at his feet.“Where do you want me to go?”“I don’t care. Back to wherever you came from.” I’m up against the door. One swift move on either part, and I could be on the other side, with the metal latch drawn between us. Surely he wouldn’t pound on the door. Not this one, nor the shop’s, nor the door to the apartment upstairs. I could flee, and he would leave, and I could crawl into the warm bed I share with my husband.But I do none of this. I stand, still as a post, until he is once again in front of me, his hand cold against my face, his eyes warm as summer earth.
