We were seventeen. He was “that cute guy” one house away. I hid behind the drapes to spy on him through our living room window. I watched him chat with friends, play his guitar, walk on his hands, and loved the way he laughed.
I carefully prepped for our first “chance meeting.” He was sitting on the steps of his back porch tuning the engine on his go-kart. I strolled over with rehearsed nonchalance. “Nice toy car,” I said with sarcastic disdain.
“Cuffs on your jeans? You a farmer?” he teased back. It was his wry smile that sealed it. I would marry this boy.
• Over fifty years later, he’s still “that cute guy” •
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