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Looking up, Sharon saw the smiling face of Peter Dowd, the local tennis pro. ‘From the looks of things,’ he said, ‘I don’t think I can intere...t the two of you in any lessons but how about a cold drink?’ ‘Why, thank you, Peter.’ Replied Sharon. ‘This is my friend Ashleigh Townsend. Ashleigh, this is Peter Dowd, our resident tennis pro.’ ‘Good day, Peter.’ Said Ashleigh. ‘Hello, Ashleigh Townsend, mmmm of course. Didn’t you win the state amateur tournament a few years ago?’ Ashleigh blushed.. We seemed to go on pretty much like we had before. 'The Kiss, ' as I had begun to enshrine it in my memory, might have been forgotten by everybody but me.Then it was spring. April. The cruelest month, somebody once said, talking about the painful awakening of new life after the death of winter, kind of like fingers recovering from frostbite. But my desire for Karen certainly hadn't died; it had survived the dead season more alive than ever, though just as frustrated.Now, however, some subtle. More

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