THE PINK GLOVE LAY ON THE GROUND, ALMOST COVERED by mud. But Darwin saw where she had dropped it and the sly glance over her shoulder as she crossed the road, tugging her skirts to avoid the muck. She had meant for him to see — as close to an invitation as he would get.
Darwin didn’t wait to be told twice. He bounded into the busy street, narrowly missing the dairy wagon. He scooped up the glove and shook it, spattering mud all over his clean shirt.
She looked at him through dewy lashes.
“I believe you dropped this.”
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