It was late evening as Beny climbed the rain spout to the sill of your bedroom window, giving the pane a firm knock in hopes that you’d be in. He held a bouquet of flowers in one hand, flowers he’d clearly snagged from some poor lady’s garden.

When you slid the window up, he swore on his life you were an angel incarnate something soft and warm and so unlike him. The little frown on your face and the crinkle in forehead told him you were clearly worried.

“Hello, mi amor ,” he breathed out, staring at you.