But then it happens. I’m not sure what I expected with my demand, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t her doing just as I asked. It wasn’t her moving the four steps until she’s right in my arms, where I can wrap them around her, the top of her head nestling right under my chin. She’s tall. I knew this, of course, but having her here in my arms without some kind of argument or build-up before is . . . nice. She fits. Most women, they hit my chest and I have to bend to hold them, to kiss them. Not Lola.
