We lie there for a while, her frozen toes slowly thawing against my calves, and I realize I have no idea what comes next. Not in the big, existential sense, but in a very literal one. I’ve never had a day with nothing hanging over it.
“What do you want to do today?” I ask.
She thinks about it for maybe two seconds. Then she smiles. “I want to go outside,” she declares. “Together. Just us. Can we do that?”
I look down at her and grin. “I’d love nothing more.”
“This could be the end of everything / So why don’t we go somewhere only we know?”
— “Somewhere Only We Know” by Keane
We end up at a tiny Italian place on Bleecker Street with a half-dozen bistro tables crammed onto the sidewalk. It’s too cold for outdoor seating by any reasonable standard, but the sun is out and there are heat
