Tears build and slide down my cheeks. My car; totaled, my finances; crap, my pool of people to rely on; a puddle.

My body remains motionless as he leans in. This is it: The First Kiss After Divorce.

Flutters fill my tummy, the same, uncontrollable butterflies that make an appearance every time he calls.

No, bad Anna. No picturing things that sparkle. Or flex. Or resemble any romantic kind of anything with Dylan.

I straighten from my perch against the van and step closer to him, standing toe to toe. But not a battling toe-to-toe like with Mrs. Song. This kind is different. Heavy with emotion, a brimming glass ready to spill over.

Warmth bubbles in my chest, like a package of my boys’ Pop Rocks found their way next to my heart.

The memory of Dylan’s laughter escapes from my mental locket. I can imagine his eyes crinkling, the gray brilliant with humor. His smile curving upwards and making his face almost too beautiful to look at.

Recently divorced Anna Waite is learning to appreciate life after first love. This is her coming of middle age story.

He laughs so hard he struggles to catch his breath. Taking a snapshot of the sound, I close it in my memory, like a mental locket ready to open when I need it.

The way he says friend makes me smile, and warmth spreads in my belly. It fills me like a pecan pie straight from the oven.