“Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lakeand dress them in warm clothes again.”

“I dug out the powder blue cashmere cardigan my mother Lisa gave me the Christmas before last, pulled on my oldest, softest Levi’s. Comfort clothes; the next best thing to a hug from a warm, living body. Lately there had been a shortage of hugs in my life. Lately there had been a shortage of warm, living bodies.”

“Shit comes up, I'm here to help you sort it out and, baby, I like where I am a fuckuca lot because you are real, that's the whole reason I like where I am," he grinned again, "outside the fact you're fuckin' gorgeous, you got great fuckin' legs, you look good in clothes and a fuckuva lot better out of them. His grin faded, his eyes changed, they warmed in a way they warmed me and he finished, "So don't worry about that. If it happens, roll with it, I'm here and I'll roll with it with you.”

“Don't even tell me you're going to pull the old 'we both have to be naked' thing to warm you up, she mumbled.”

“The two of us warmed by a bold beam of light that wicks the moisture from my dress, my hair, and my skin—returning it to the sky where it promises to find me again in the form of dew, snow, or rain.”

“Don't tell us about dreams – dream dinners aren't any good and we can't share them.”