There’s a man who’s cheating on his wife,
he lives just down the street from me.
We picked each other up in the No Frills
one November night.
I should have known, the tubs of ice cream
bags of chips and candy packs,
definitely for his kids.
He said my smile made his night and
hoped he’d hear from me.
We exchanged numbers
and I texted him as soon as
I got home.

It took us a week to arrange a time
to meet.
It was a cold and rainy midnight, should have
known.
I met him on Nelson Street.
Under an awning. Tall, handsome,
confused.
He offered to carry my umbrella, to shelter me.
I held my own.
We walked and talked in the rain by the ocean,
no one in sight.
I took him to my favourite tree, we stood there
a while and he said he
loved my smell.
“Indian coconut nectar it’s called”
I replied.

It was so dark and wet, we were so alone.
I asked him questions about his wife,
his kids, his family. I didn’t hold back.
Nervous and kind I listened to the
charming cheating man.
I made him feel
safe because that’s what I do.
There was connection and attraction.
I planned my escape.

We entered a pub at 1:00am, and were the
only two people there other than a
drunk couple doubled over at the bar.
He ordered whiskey. Neat.
I ordered peppermint tea. Dirty.
He said peppermint tea was his favourite.
I asked for two cups.
He asked me questions. Open ended questions.
Fuck.
He paused and thought before
asking another, and another.
He was calm and confident, not
what I’m used to.

The rain stopped and the wind really picked up.
He showed me pictures of his kids because I asked.
Beautiful smiles.
I stared across at the charming cheating man
and asked him why he was sitting across
from me at 1:00am.
He had answers.
I wish I had asked the questions
before this night.
This night, walking and talking in the rain,
was so nice I didn’t want it
to end, but of course,
it had to.
Right?