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At the end, he reached for me and I said no and he was gone.For months after I felt haunted by all the things I hadn’t said, as if a few magic words could have been the code that would have kept us together. That if I had ten more minutes I would have found the words that would have kept him there. That ten more minutes of passion would have given him the faith to say, this can work. It took me the better part of a year to realize that ten minutes wouldn’t have saved us. We had done all we could do for, by, and to each other. We were just two people whose time had run out.And here, over a year later, in a city a thousand miles away from that bed in Georgia sat this man whose wife had died and who had something very broken inside of him. Broken so badly that he had left their son in New York. So badly that he was sitting across from me in this booth, talking to me about Houston and how it was nothing like home. So badly that he would search a stranger’s face to find ten more minutes. "Andy?" She said as she slapped me. "Stop your daydreaming!" She said as she slapped me dead across the face. Finally, I was back to earth and I looked at her. It was none other than my best friend, Brooke. "Ugh, that hurt," I grunted while rubbing my cheek, "don't you have somewhere to be other then my house?" Truthfully I was glad she was here, but I wasn't about to let her know that. "Why do you say that Andy? I don't bite," She grinned heavily. I playfully slapped her on the arm and finally said as I gave her a warm embrace, "So... What brings you here, B?" --Truth is I dreamed of her all the time and this embrace was having its physical effects on me. Her brunette hair, tan skin, black eyes, supple legs, heart shaped ass, toned belly, all being accentuated by her tight tang top and short shorts for summer, and all being pressed against me... Not to mention her C-cup breasts. She flashed a smirk as she rubbed her knee against my crotch and said, "Just.
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We’ve stayed in touch and I visit him from time to time; he is always after me to move back and go into the business with him. I probably will some day.”“Your father sounds like a character from a Hemingway novel.”“His name is Alonso. He is a descendant of the Caquetio Indians and the Dutch. He loves where he lives and what he does.”“That’s the secret of happiness, I think,” Bernie said. “Who, what and where. Sounds like your father has at least two out of three.”“Huh?” Jayden asked.“Who, what, where,” she said. “Who are you with, what are you doing and where are you doing it? If you are with the right person, are doing what you want to do and live where you want to be, that’s true happiness. If you have two out of three you can be reasonably happy too. Less than two, I don’t think so.”“Hmm,” he said. “I never thought of it like that. Interesting.”“How about you, Jayden? Where are you on the scale?” Bernie asked. Her eyes were wide open and staring into his. He detected a slight.

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