Lost and found.

As he handed her the cone of soft-serve — vanilla and chocolate twist, of course — the man in the ice cream truck looked at her companion and snarkily remarked: “where’d you find that guy?” She smiled and handed him a twenty-dollar bill from her wallet. Inches away, the boy licked his ice cream cone, looked across at her smile, and thought to himself: “where’d I find her?”

She was perfect — an almost impossible find, standing there next to him, staring at her ice cream cone, white dress fluttering in the wind. It didn’t matter where he had found her; what mattered was that he had.