Two weeks slip by. Kate is now so much a part of my life that I couldn't imagine it without her. The arrival of a new visitor to the booth--tall guy, blond hair, expensive Italian suits--only vaguely interests me.

But one day we're coming back from a walk around the neighborhood. Kate stopped to chat with the homeless people sitting on the street; every single one, blinking blearily and scrubbing at their eyes with raw fists, lifted up a weary, weathered face that broke into a wide smile. They all clung to her with their bony fingers, babbling and prattling like little kids.

One thin, nervous man stuttered out, "Is th-this your b-b-boyfriend?" And Kate laughed, "Yes," and slipped an arm around my waist, and kept it there for the entire walk home, and I couldn't have told you what my name was or where I lived if my life had depended on it.

We're walking up to the booth, and the guy steps out. He's handsome in a sort of flashy way, all glitter and sparkle. He sees Kate, with her hair streaming from her face and her eyes bright with laughter, and he lets out a long wolf whistle.

All I can hear is the blood pounding hotly in my ears, and all I can see is red. I could pull the rifle out right now and shoot him between the eyes, and I'd die a happy man. Kate just rolls her eyes and drags me past the booth.

It happens again. Two days later, we arrive just as he slides the door closed behind him and brushes himself off. He looks her up and down approvingly, his eyes lustful, and she shoots him a dirty glance. Only her hand on my arm prevents me from grabbing him by his silk collar and hurling him through one of the windows above.

The next day, he steps up to us, his hands stuffed in his pockets. His hair is greased back and his forehead is shiny; he smiles--a smug, self- satisfied, conceited leer. "Hey, baby," he smirks. "Name's Steve, what's yours?"

Kate looks at him, her eyebrows raised. Then she turns to me, gently slides my glasses off--what is she doing?--puts her arms around my neck, and--

And I think the guy is swearing spitefully at both of us, spitting and cursing, but I really couldn't care less, because Kate is kissing me and nothing else exists, at all, for the next few minutes.

He's stomped off by the time she draws back, breathless and flushed. She sees my dazed face and suddenly seems uncertain, her smile faltering. "Sorry," she murmurs, chewing on her lip. "I didn't think--if you don't want to--"

Don't want to? With a soft growl I shove her up against the side of the booth and kiss her hard, tangling my hands in her hair. She lets out a stifled whimper, and I realize I'm hurting her. "Sorry, sorry," I stammer frantically, quickly releasing her, "sorry--"

"I'm all right," she gasps, catching her breath, "it's okay, I'm all right," and then melts back into my arms. This time we go slowly, and I hold her with infinite care as she tilts her head to meet mine.

It's nearly dark by the time I stumble back into the apartment and fling the rifle aside, rustling out of my coat and kicking off my shoes. I stride over to the window, sending the shade flying with a flick of the wrist, and I catch a glimpse of her as she turns the corner and vanishes.

---