She came downstairs at seven-thirty, and the two cups were out.Of course.He was at the kitchen window. The March morning was doing what Mr. Osei had said it would do. The oak showed green at the very tips. The south bed was beginning its slow assertion of color. The bench sat in the morning light exactly as it always had.She came into the kitchen, and he turned to look at her. The expression was fully his, fully open, the face she had been learning since October and now knew completely."Good morning," he said."Good morning," she said.She poured her coffee. He poured his.They stood at the window in the specific warmth of two people who had been standing at this window for fourteen months and were standing at it today because it was the fifteenth and the bench was ready and Mr. Osei had chosen correctly."Ready?" she said."Since approximately day three," he said.She looked at him.The full smile came.Both corners.The architecture of his face completely changed.The smile she
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