You’d just stepped out of Goldstein’s Dry Goods, the paper bag with your new dress crinkling against your hip. Marceline was still chattering about the price.

He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in an olive drab uniform, the wool still crisp and new. His cap had fallen off when he bumped you, and he was bent to pick it up, a sheepish grin already forming.

Then he looked up.

Blue eyes. Bright as summer sky. A smile that crinkled the corners.