Cracking Spines

Our last date had ended with a brief but I think sincere kiss, and while I waited for Rachel to come outside – I called, as I pulled up to her house, to tell her I’d be there in five minutes– I debated whether to try and kiss her again when she got in my car. At the wine bar last weekend she’d told me she separated people into two categories, puzzles and pets, and that she was still figuring out which group I belonged to. Tonight we were going to bake gingerbread cookies, and even though Rachel had already been to the store she’d forgotten several of the ingredients. I watched the lights in her house go out one-by-one and moved all my parking ramp receipts to the back seat floor.