Sarah and her husband had moved into a new house, and in the unpacking she found it in an old album her mother had given her. She took the faded picture from beneath the brittle plastic sheet covering it.
Standing there, smiling at a memory, she didn’t notice her husband watching her until he spoke as he approached and looked over her shoulder.
“Who is that?”
She started to put it back in the album. He bent to look closer and she paused.
“My first love.” Her eyes flicked away and she seemed embarrassed. “I found it in the park when I was a little girl. It was caught in a bush. I liked the boy’s smile and decided to keep it. My mother teased about it… but kept for me,” she shook her head.
He took the picture from her with a bemused expression. “That park over at the corner of Lincoln and Oak Street?”
She looked at him. “How did you know that?”
“One day my mother was showing some pictures to a friend there.” He handed the photo back to her. “It was a windy, autumn, day. A gust caught the pictures in her lap. She found most of them.” He tapped the picture in her hand. “But not that one. I was nine years old.”
She looked at him and his smile, that had warmed her since their first meeting, spread as he leaned down and kissed her cheek.