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Robin has raven black hair, slightly threaded with premature grey that seems to sparkle when the sunlight catches it just right. It hangs plumb-straight to her shoulders and swings easily whenever she moves her head. I'd never really noticed the sparkle before that afternoon last summer, when we discovered a hidden passion for one another that hasn't dissipated yet. We'd been neighbors for almost three years--the only never-married people on the block--and we'd done all the neighborly things during that time. I'd helped shovel snow out of her driveway on more than one occasion.

I guess because she lived next door, I never admitted to thinking of her as anything more than a good neighbor. The afternoon all that changed we were sitting on Robin's back porch, sipping iced tea and discussing whether or not she should invest in a new car or replace her beater with a clean used car. It wasn't a particularly interesting discussion--anyone listening in would have been bored to death--but it passed the time as the sun crawled across the afternoon sky.

Somewhere between the discussion of interest rates and insurance premiums on various models, I looked over at her and saw the threads of grey in her hair glimmering in the mid-afternoon sun. Then I noticed the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes, her delicate nose, and her full, ripe lips. I realized in that moment what a truly beautiful woman Robin was. Not "cover-girl" beautiful, but beautiful in the way that only a self-assured, self-confident woman in her thirties could be. I ...

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