She’d slipped a napkin into his palm as they landed. On it was a drawing of a lighthouse, and below it, an address and a time. “Next month,” she’d said. “I’ll be there. A temporary studio. Don’t be late.”
“You’re not a rock,” he said. “You’re a harbor.” rendezvous with a lonely girl
A lonely girl often feels exposed in crowded, high-energy places. She’d slipped a napkin into his palm as they landed