The bar closed with a soft click of the lock. The lights inside dimmed one by one, leaving only the glow spilling out from a few windows along the street. The air was cooler than during the day, carrying a thin dampness from the river. Harry pulled his jacket up a little higher and waited on the steps. Tiffany came out behind him, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.

"Walk?" she asked.

Harry nodded.

They turned into the narrow road leading toward the bridge. Streetlights grew farther apart. Cars passed in the distance, their sound drifting through rather than pressing in. The pavement was still damp, catching the light in long, broken reflections.

Tiffany walked more slowly than usual. Harry adjusted his pace to match. Their sleeves brushed once, then again, very lightly. Neither of them changed direction.

The bridge appeared ahead.

A gray metal railing, old and worn. The span wide enough for two people to walk side by side. Below, the river moved slowly, reflecting the streetlights in fragments that broke apart and rejoined. Wind cut across the bridge, carrying the scent of water and metal.

They stepped onto it.

Their footsteps sounded clearer here, more even than on the street. Tiffany rested her hand on the railing, walking close to the edge. Harry walked on the inside, looking straight ahead.

Halfway across, Tiffany stopped.

Harry stopped with her, without asking. Cars passed far off, their lights sliding by and disappearing. The wind strengthened slightly, lifting Tiffany's hair to one side. She reached up to smooth it back, not turning right away.

"This weekend," Tiffany said. "Are you free?"

Harry looked down at the bridge, then out at the river.

"Maybe," he said.

"Let's go somewhere," she continued. "Not far."

Harry was quiet for a beat.

"Okay," he said.

Tiffany turned to face him. The distance between them was small. The bridge light fell over her face, leaving the rest in shadow. She looked at Harry for a long moment without speaking.

The wind moved again, tugging at Harry's jacket. Tiffany stepped closer by half a step. One hand stayed on the railing, her fingers loosely curled.

"You always stand so still," she said.

Harry didn't answer.

Tiffany lifted her other hand, touched the sleeve of his jacket, and gave it a small pull. Not strong. Just enough to make him turn toward her.

The distance closed.

The sound of water rose steadily beneath the bridge. Behind them, the streetlights formed a dim halo. There was no one else on the bridge.

Tiffany tilted her head up.

Harry leaned down, very slowly.

There was no counting. No warning.

Their lips met.

At first, it was light—only a brief point of contact, as if testing. Tiffany didn't pull away. Harry remained still. The wind passed through again, stronger now, setting the railing vibrating faintly.

The kiss held for another beat.

Harry placed his hand on the railing beside Tiffany's. Their hands were close, but not touching. Tiffany tilted her head slightly. Harry followed the movement.

Then they separated.

Neither of them spoke.

Tiffany leaned back against the railing and looked up at the sky. Above, clouds drifted slowly, covering part of the moon. Harry stood facing her, looking into the empty space beyond her shoulder.

"Cold?" Tiffany asked.

"No," Harry said.

She nodded, as if she had expected that answer. Then she straightened and turned to continue walking. Harry followed.

They crossed the rest of the bridge.

Down the steps on the other side, their footsteps softened again. The road leading home felt more familiar. The streetlights were evenly spaced now. No one said anything more.

At the intersection, Tiffany stopped.

"My place is this way," she said.

Harry stopped as well.

"Yeah."

Tiffany stepped forward and hugged him quickly. Not tight. Not lingering. Then she stepped back.

"See you tomorrow," she said.

"Yeah," Harry replied.

Tiffany turned away. Her figure merged into the streetlight, growing smaller. Harry stood there a while longer, then turned in the opposite direction.

The road home was quiet. A few windows were still lit. The wind moved gently, carrying the smell of the river.

Harry opened the gate and stepped into the yard. The garden lay in shadow, only the porch light reaching a few rose bushes. The buds leaned slightly in the breeze.

He stood in the middle of the yard for a long time.

Then he went inside and closed the door.

In the room, the painting was still on the wall. Harry draped his jacket over a chair. He stood in front of the painting, looked at it for a moment, then turned away.

Outside, the river continued to flow beneath the bridge.

Light reflected, broke apart, came together again.

End Of Chapter 12