by Glory Lennon

Created on: September 15, 2009   Last Updated: September 19, 2009

Kyle knew she'd be there. She always was. Of course her fiery red head would be virtually impossible to miss anywhere even from the top of the skyscraper whose construction he was currently supervising. But now that the trees were all leafed out spotting her from this vantage point was not so easy anymore. He, however, was certain she would be there although he wasn't positive she would want to talk to him today. Their last conversation had been a heated one.

So it was with some trepidation he crossed the street to the park, leaving his hectic work day behind for a precious hour, his favorite Tim Horton's coffee in one hand and his lunch in the other. He made a bee-line to the usual place, the picnic table just under a pink horsechestnut tree. Not that he knew a chestnut tree from a maple. Lucky for him Lisa did and explained to him with obvious adoration how her husband always sneezed his head off when they were in bloom.

"Good thing he's not here then, huh?" Kyle had said looking up at the huge and highly fragrant flowers hanging off the pretty tree. He had to admit he never noticed them before. That was three months ago. He couldn't believe it only had been that long since they'd met. It felt as if they'd known each other for decades.

Lisa always spoke of her husband Jason. That was why Kyle felt utterly safe spending his lunch time talking to her. She was married and completely off limits just as she should be if he were to be spending all this time with a woman not his wife. It rid him of useless guilt. He had even told Peggy about her just to make sure nothing got back to her that could make trouble for him. Not that it would, not even if there was something to it. The guys on his crew kept their thoughts to themselves for their own sakes. Honor among thieves is what they called it. Good thing because those guys were usually up to no good.

Kyle had just passed between the swings and the elaborate multi-level jungle gym when he saw Lisa's curly carrot-top just visible from behind a book. Her nose was usually stuck in a book. It was one a many things they had in common and the one that particularly resounded with him. Of course he usually had a problem with her choice of authors.

"D.H. Lawrence? What am I gonna do with her?" he muttered to himself. He made a mental note to bring Hemingway's "Snows of Kilimanjaro" from his collection for her. Then she'd know what a true masterful storyteller was.

"Hello, Lisa," he said, settling himself across from her.

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