It was raining in New York, but at least it was a warm rain. People caught in the open could choose to continue walking—knowing it would probably soon stop, jump under the protection of doorways, or bother shop owners with aimless perusal of racks and stacks.
That’s how we met, in a women’s clothing boutique, escaping from a cloudburst. He was a better man than I though. He bought something.
We left together, as if it were ordained. I mean, we were wearing matching outfits, or at least close enough, as the boutique clerk had noted. Outside our temporary refuge, he asked, “Would you like to have lunch?”
I looked at his bag from Claudine’s Clothes for Elegant Women. “Sure,” I replied, “But I’ll buy.”