What Stays in the Cab

There are things you don't tell in the bar. I never told this one, and if I'm telling it now it's because the cab already knows it, and it can't find out twice.

After the kiss we stayed still, forehead to forehead, like two trucks that have clipped mirrors while manoeuvring and neither knows whether to get out and fill in the report. He was breathing hard through his nose. I wasn't breathing at all.

"Tens a certeza?" he said softly.

At fifty-four I'm not sure of anything, not even what the weather will do on Pajares. But I took his face in both hands, and it filled them completely, and I answered with another kiss. That one wasn't slow.