The North Steps

Keir found Blythe’s glove beneath his chair the next morning.

Only one. Dark green, with a repaired seam at the thumb. He picked it up and immediately invented three reasons to take it to her.

She might need it. The weather had turned. Returning property was not the same as asking to be let in.

He set it on the table.

By noon he had moved it twice.

At one he went to work.

The lamp waiting on his bench belonged to a woman who had explained, at some length, that it was for reading and that she could not see any improvement in a lamp which required admiring before it could be used. He liked her. Today he liked her especially because her requirements had nothing to do with his intentions.

The fitting sat crooked. He loosened it, adjusted the base and tightened it again. Still crooked. He did…