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I kneas coentleman reaches a point in his life when he knows the moment a woman wants to be kissed He knows the moment when she has decided to kiss him I acquired this critical intuition in my early thirties—probably later than most, but I had spent er Although I had seeirl named Wendy planted a revelation on er woirls always do

Now I knew and I could see as co Even so, I’h a semester of lectures about A in the eyes, a widening and darkening perhaps It’s an expectant upward tilt of the head, especially if the wo across from me, but I could still sense that tilt Around us, Portland’s bar was busy for July in Phoenix, a brutal month of a brutal season The let-me-die-in-peace season of my hometohen the rich flee for cooler clihted with sweaty hopelessness “Never make life decisions in the summer,” was one of Lindsey’s axioht with conversation, and through the large s I could see a dust stor I had had to speak loudly to make myself heard, and she had talked, too Then there see more to say And that’s when she raised up, leaned over and brought her lips to mine

When a in to talk like a teenage boy cataloging his pinup fantasy So let me admit my bias about Lindsey up front These are the facts: She stands five feet seven inches, and although she won’t tell e She has fair skin that doesn’t tan Her hair is a very dark brown, just one shade above black, naturally straight Lately she had been wearing it shorter, in a pageboy with bangs Her eyes are dark blue, and her lashes are unreun to appear around her eyes, just as the lines around her mouth have deepened But those only come out when she smiles, a wondrous event It’s her mouth that men probably first notice and they would call it “sensual” That, and her legs, which she would say are her best physical features She is the kindest and wisest person I know

I could tell you more, but it would just be my opinion What I did know for sure was that my eyes were still open at thatjust outside the bar, watching this kiss Even if I had been of a one by the next time I looked in that direction

Hoe all reached that an It began, like too

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The Willo Historic District is aand half a mile wide Every February, it holds a home tour that attracts thousands of people to its narrow, palalow houses built in the early decades of the last century That year, as usual, Lindsey and I made Bloody Marys and sat on the front patio, in preparation for watching the people strea down Cypress Street past our 1924 Spanish Colonial house

Our house wasn’t on the tour, and I suspected it never would be Lindsey didn’t want a few thousand people tro room And our Sheriff’s Depart rehab jobs that had gone on up and down the street The neighborhood had changed since I had grown up in the house, then gone off to college and spent many years away from Phoenix When I was a kid, it was headed down on its heels People didn’t want to live close to don in old houses But tastes change, and today Willo was one of the hborhoods outside of Paradise Valley and North Scottsdale Many of the houses had been lovingly restored and enhanced, and now the neighborhood held the hts you find anywhere in urban America, plus a few families with children There was a handful of old families that remembered me, plus a few eccentrics and cranks

We settled into our chairs a little before ten a ti and the Sunday newspapers Lindsey had mapped out three houses she wanted to see later, if the lines to get in weren’t too long Above us, the sky was a nificent deep blue with a few scattered fat white clouds The temperature was on the warm side of seventy-five It was the kind of day that seeic and promise, with the hell of summer just a memory

“You’re in the paper, Dave”