“What is love?” He asked. Laura thought a moment, then answered with an uncharacteristic short-winded reply.
” I don’t claim to be an expert. As you well know, I haven’t had much success in matters of the heart. I think that love can be defined differently in each moment of each day. It changes constantly.”
They continued walking. Evening heat rose, First Friday in Old City Philadelphia; always a scene. Love-question lingered mid-air. In hindsight, she thought her answer quite ridiculous and wished to be in a quieter place where they could sip wine and pontificate, each on love’s soapbox of wows. What is love?
His arm went round her shoulder as he guided her up three steps into a gallery where cool air promised welcome relief. She was soon caught up and stopped to videotape the eclectic collection of paintings and patrons. Thirsty, he wandered further in search of an open bar . Lost in i pad 2 mode, ten minutes quickly passed. She slipped her newest toy back into her bag in time to feel a familiar hand fall on her hip. They both smiled as he handed her a drink. An impression remained where his hand had just been.
She felt a shift inside, glimmer of first-love, long past. What is love? Tonight? Is it not a flutter of warmth that remains after a subtle caress? Gentle pressure on a girl’s hip that reminds her she is still alive? A smile of reassurance afterward? So simple a gesture, a touch wrought with meaning and remembrance of what can be.
NOTE: This is my first official attempt at a short story in many years. Short and sweet. I welcome any and all comments, opinions and feedback!