I like you. Do you like me? It was followed by two check boxes, one yes and the other no. Kara smiled. The note instructed that if her answer was “Yes” she should come on in and meet him in the backyard. Her heart fluttered giddily. She leaned forward and kissed the paper, leaving a faint impression of her lip gloss and indicating that yes, she liked him a lot. Laughing at herself, Kara turned the brass knob and stepped into Logan’s small home. She could smell him, his food, and centuries of old paint—life lived. She closed her eyes. She wanted this. This wasn’t obtained by a decorator or purchased on a showroom floor. Kara ran her hand along the wall molding as she made her way toward the back of the house to the kitchen. What was coursing through her body was earned, not bought, from early mornings remembering to water plants, bake fresh bread. Those things made a life. Kara walked through the white entryway of the kitchen and past Logan’s stove which, like a painter’s palette, was stained, dented, and used.
