Their eyes met across a crowded room.
They were friends, first. She would laugh at the jokes his girlfriend made and at night she imagined his fingers on her thighs and his lips on her neck. He began to notice things that he had somehow missed before. How the green of her nose stud matched her eyes. How her hands sweated when she fancied someone. He found himself always trying to make her laugh. The girlfriend disappeared.
One night, drunk, and barefoot in dew, he grabbed her hand and it was clammy. They kissed. She was a virgin for another 17 minutes.
He went home with her over summer and met her family, played with her dog, was shown her country. They stayed up all night, drinking summer ale and spilling it on the pillows. He told her of his fears and loves, and when they did eventually fall asleep as dawn broke and the pukekos started marching across the lawn, he would murmur as he slept - of his father, and somebody called Ray; dreams he could never remember when he woke.
They travelled, worked, married.
The years swept by. They stayed in love. A house, three boys and a girl, a trampoline, broken legs, Christmas in the sun. Making love in the morning.
They walked home one evening at twilight, letting the children run ahead. He kissed her on the cheek and she nestled her head against his neck and he took her fingers in his. Her hand began to sweat.
He died.
She stayed around for the children, who grew up and had their own love stories. On a monday, her first grandchild was born. She waited for the tuesday, so as not to merge the anniversaries, and finally, exhausted, she let herself slip away. She could smell wine and wet grass. Her heart thumped, for the final time, as she felt a hand take her own in the dark.
A/N: I couldn't sleep; I'm homesick and lonely (hence the references to NZ that I couldn't help). Reading over it, it's actually quite shit. But I'd still love your reviews!!