“I miss the man who would bring me coffee in bed just because,” Linda whispered. “Not because it was a chore on a list.”
Tonight was the night. He was going to have a date with Linda.
The jazz trio shifted into a slow, familiar tune. Something by Etta James. Linda didn’t know the name, but it felt like honey being poured into her chest.
They left the restaurant and walked in the park. The moon was shining brightly. It was a romantic scene. Pedro felt that he should say something. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. But the words stuck in his throat.