He pulled back and looked at her.

She looked at him.

His hands still on her face. Her hands still on his jacket. Both of them slightly out of breath.

"Imara," he said.

"I know," she said.

"Six months," he said.

"I know," she said.

He kissed her again and she kissed him back and felt the river and the morning and the cold and none of it as much as she felt him and felt entirely fine about all of it.

They sat on the bench for a long time after.

His arm around her. Her head against his shoulder. The river doing its thing and the city doing...