While she was filling up the tank, Monica had heard the other car door slam, but she assumed Fatima was just heading into the gas station to pee. So, she was very perplexed to see her friend tromping out of the ditch by the highway instead. “What were you doing down there?”

Fatima’s face was all summer breeze and sunshine. “Picking wildflowers,” she answered.

But she had done more than that. What Fatima held up was a woven crown of small blue and purple and white blossoms. “It’s lovely,” Monica said.

“Then it’s perfect for you.” Fatima stepped behind Monica. Close behind. She began gathering up Monica’s long auburn hair and pulling out through the wreath she had made.

Monica’s heartbeat had quickened. “I hope you’re not getting notions,” she said.

A smile shaped Fatima’s words as she asked, “What sort of notions?”

Monica fought to keep her voice casual. “This has been a fun trip, but . . .”

“But?”

Monica sighed. “I don’t really do . . . relationships.”

It felt strangely painful to say those words, a pain that sharpened when Fatima’s answered simply, “I know.”

Was that regret in Fatima’s voice? Monica could feel that breath of that answer on her neck and the gentle rug of Fatima’s fingers running through her hair. “So what are you doing?” Monica asked.

Fatima walked back around to face Monica. She shrugged and answered, “I’m crowning a beautiful woman with summer.” A wide, glowing smile, deep, generous eyes looking over her handiwork. As simple as the answer was, Monica realized it was genuine. Fatima was asking for nothing, and Monica suddenly wanted to give her everything. She leaned forward and found Fatima’s lips with hers.

A gust of summer wind. A sudden eruption of birdsong. The softness of fluffy white clouds. Heat and flowers and blazing sunsets.

Their lips parted.

Fatima arched an eyebrow as her mouth curved into a smile. “Notions?” she asked.

Monica’s cheeks were flushed red. “Maybe I could make an exception.”

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox