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I stepped back, my heel catching slightly on the edge of a concrete planter filled with dying marigolds.
“Are you coming inside or not?” I asked.
He looked at the brass entrance, then back at me, his face hardening into the expression he used when the monthly bills were higher than he liked.
“I told you my terms,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his keys and letting them jingle in his palm. “You want to make a spectacle of yourself, you do it alone.”
He climbed back into the driver’s seat and slammed the door with a heavy thud that rattled the passenger window.
I stood on the cold pavement, the wind whipping the green silk around my knees. The headlights of our car flickered on, cutting through the autumn dusk and bathing my legs in yellow light.
