The night our relationship began was like any other August evening in the San Francisco Bay area. Foghorns droned. Seals arp-arped. A chill fog rolled over, under, and around the Golden Gate Bridge, spreading its misty fingers into the nooks and crannies studding the bay’s coastline. It stretched all the way up to the Williams – Sonoma on Chestnut Street, forcing the store manager to close the shop’s double door early. He really hadn’t needed to hurry, since the moment she walked in, the temperature in the room rose at least ten degrees from the warmth her cherubic, rosy-cheeked face exuded.
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