Her life at home had become unbearably predictable. There had to be more out there for her than being a housewife. Leaving the jet bridge she saw a yo...ng man in Hanover House attire with a silver button on his lapel holding a sign with 'Sophie' printed in bold letters. When they made eye contact he immediately turned and strode off in the direction of luggage claim. His behavior reminded her that 'silver buttons' did not engage patrons or superiors in conversation. Was she a patron? Was her. ’ I nodded. ‘But with you. Everything I’ve told you is real and true.’ ‘Why me?’ ‘I like you. A rare thing in my human experience.’ ‘I’ve not allowed myself to like many people, either.’ Our damage, festering up, afraid to touch, to be real, to expose ourselves. With a twitch of her fingers, her shorts fell to her ankles. She watched my eyes watching her. ‘Does me exposing myself make you uncomfortable?’ I shared a sardonic smile. ‘We’ve yet to expose anything that counts.’ She blushed. ‘Get. More

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