That's all it was, at first, this gut reaction, this lust. Pure and simple and I had never acted on that feeling before, but this time I got up and started walking toward her. About halfway there I realized what I was doing and veered toward the bathroom. I passed her and swore I caught a whiff of her. Cookies and play dough and somehow everything perfect and I realized I'd drunk too much.

I went to the restroom and was walking pass the women's room when the door popped open, popped me in the nose. As soon as it did I got that copper taste in the back of my throat, that penny in the mouth taste. After that came the pain. She'd broken my nose.

Afterwards I'd wish I could've been smooth. Made some jokes, had her laughing, shrugged it off. Something super manly. What I did, though, was cuss. Loudly. Something like god damn mother fucker.

I'd bent over, holding my nose. I saw her shoes. Tennis shoes when everyone else was wearing heels. Bright blue tennis shoes with orange laces.

I stood up. She was still amazing. I still wanted her in my bed. But I was bleeding, steadily, from my nose.

I couldn't drive. None of my coworkers wanted to leave. She offered to take me to the hospital. I agreed. Her friend came along with us; I guess to prevent me from attempting anything but the pain was making me too nauseous to do anything pass thinking of her smooth her skin must be.

That is how I met my wife. A broken nose, fast car ride, apology drinks the week later and it was like she'd always been in my life. The rest came easy to me, if not her. Marriage, the house, the kid. Cleaning the gutters while she did whatever she did around the house. It was so simple and easy and beautiful and then the wreck happened and, again, we were in the hospital. Again, the taste of copper in the back of my throat. Again, a broken nose, fast car ride.