I ask her to dance.

My hands cold. Short breaths. Nervous.

Gibson Brothers’ “I Will Always Cross Your Mind” plays on her iPhone balancing delicately on hood of her car. Chilly California black night around us.

I can’t tell if it’s remorse, or something else-it’s been so long.

(I love she’s wearing that same dress I bought her.)

Movement is awkward. High beams light up the ocean waves behind us. We’re alone and alive, like it was that night in the small wine cellar of the Stafford in London (so many years ago).

She sings the words along softly in my ear, catching my breath. I listen. Time is such a liquid resource. I now understand better the spirituality of knowing somebody. Her skin is warmer than I remember. Eyes more blue.

Stafford Dress (No. 4203). Sleeveless rayon faux-wrap dress with asymmetrical front and pleats at waistline. Wide draped belt with shiny gold buckle at wearer’s left. Below knee length. Imported.