For so many years we didn't know the other existed. And then there you were, the same aisle of the grocery store, staring at the same last and lonely box of dark chocolate and almond granola. You said I could have it, for the fair exchange of my phone number. I pointed out that I could easily give you a fake number. You laughed.
"And a fake name," I added.
"Go ahead, anyway."
"I'm Jenny, by the way."
"Or maybe you aren't."
Three years later, we're laying with our backs in the cool grass in the park behind the house. The air is still and our lips still feeling like each other's. It's cold and dark and perfect. You turn your head to look at me.
"I don't even like granola," you say into the quiet.
I smile. "Neither do I."