He pressed his lips gently to her hand, a soft, romantic gesture and one that he had longed to make, since the first moment he saw her.

Her warm, delicate hands carried the faint fragrance of lotion – and the sharp, pleasant scent of tobacco. In cradling her hand in his, he had gently angled it so that his kiss landed exactly at the spot where she habitually held her cigarettes. He breathed in the aroma that lingered there and then softly let her hand drop and looked into her dark eyes.

“I’ve never met anyone so beautiful in all my life,” he breathed, and he meant it. She smiled and he knew his words were taking root in her heart.

She had never expected that an expatriate Korean, too tall, nearing her mid-thirties, working as a mall clerk, could catch a man’s attention like this – out of the clear blue – and that he was falling in love with her, with all that that meant.

He thought about the moment he had first seen her, pacing outside the mall talking on her cellphone and smoking a Marlboro menthol. He had been getting ready to get out of his car for some errand but he sat back down again and just watched as she chatted casually and puffed deeply on her cigarette, filling her lungs with that cool menthol and her body with sweet nicotine.

She was tall for her background, he thought – but in no way did that lessen her beauty. Her black hair was bound up in a bun but still looked so pretty. Her face was delicate, her features perfect, with just the beginnings of the fine lines of maturity. He watched as she swiveled on the corner and paced back. Still chatting on the phone, she put her cigarette to her lips and breathed in one last drag of smoke. Then she tossed the butt into the street and vanished back into the store.

Like some love-struck teenager, he hurried over to where the wind had blown the burning cigarette and scooped it into his hands and carried it back to his car, the hot cherry biting into his palm like an angry little animal. He inhaled the sharp smoke that still rose from its end and he kissed the dark circle on the filter where the tar was trapped. He kissed the edge of the filter where her mouth had rested moments before and tasted the menthol that she had tasted.

She worked at the men’s clothing section of Seers, of all places, he discovered later. He visited her counter and asked where neckties were. He asked her which ones were in style this year. He watched her lips shape her responses and her hands lift to accompany her words. He went home and waited impatiently for a day to pass, then returned to the mall and thanked her for her advice. His father had loved the tie she helped him pick, he said. That would have been news to his father, whom he hadn't seen since he was five years old.

Then he asked about something that meant more to him than neckties.

“Would you care to join me on your break, for coffee – right here in the mall?” he asked. He knew a woman couldn’t be too careful.

She smiled, showing beautiful, white teeth. “I’d love to.”

He killed a half-hour in Barns & Nobel Bookstore, then met her in the Food Court. Her face lit up and his heart began to pound. He ordered them both a latte and then, finally, they sat down and began to talk.

He was a great conversationalist. It was a gift and a nurtured skill, that helped in business … and in other areas. Within a few minutes, she had shared almost her entire life story with him and he had listened happily to every word. She finally caught her breath, embarrassed to be talking so much, and sipped her neglected coffee.

One hand reached for her purse then and he knew what that meant, knew the power of a habit. She caught herself, though. This was a non-smoking mall.

“I, umm, it was nice to talk with you. I would like so to do again,” she said, slipping in her syntax slightly, betraying nervousness, perhaps.

So she needed to have a cigarette, but didn’t want him to know that she smoked. She was willing to cut short their coffee chat to keep her secret – and to soothe her addiction.

That was when he took her warm, soft hand in his and kissed it.

“I would like that, too. Tomorrow, same place, same time,” he said.

Part Two:

All night long, he had gone over in his mind what to say to her. He knew he was in love. But love demanded honesty. How could he tell her that not only did he not mind her smoking, he absolutely loved it?

All night long, she had gone over in her mind what to say to him. She knew she was in love. But love demanded honesty. How could she tell him that she was flawed, that the woman he was falling for had a disgusting smoking habit and could not quit? He would surely flee and never look back.

She sat in the gloom of her apartment in the morning, watching her cigarette burn in its ashtray. She took a deep drag, filling her mouth and lungs with the menthol that she loved so much. She would have to choose between smoking and this man.

She couldn’t say she was quitting. That hadn’t worked the last time around. Eventually, the truth would come out.

One last deep drag of smoke satisfied her craving for the moment and she savagely crushed out her cigarette in the ashtray and left her apartment for the mall.

He wasn’t there when she arrived at their chosen table. Fifteen minutes passed. She had chain smoked two cigarettes before their scheduled time, fortifying herself – and for nothing. Five more minutes passed. Finally, she got up. He knew. Somehow, he had found out that she smoked and had broken their date.

She wasn’t there when he arrived at their chosen table. Of course she wasn’t. Numbskull that he was, he hadn’t gotten her cell number yesterday and so he couldn’t warn her about the traffic tie-up on I-10 that he’d gotten stuck in. She surely thought he had dogged her.

He checked the men’s clothing area of Seers, forlornly hoping to find her.

“Lily’s on break,” said a nearby associate, smacking her gum boredly.

He checked all the outside benches, one by one – no sign of her. Had she just up and left?

He walked past the Sporting Goods store and rounded a corner – and almost tripped over her. Walked right into the heavenly cloud of Marlboro Menthol that had just left her lips.

“Lily!” he said. “I’m so sorry!”

All his rehearsed sentences fled his mind.

She had not expected this. She was caught – caught like a shamefaced schoolgirl smoking – no chance to prepare him, no chance to hide, no chance to explain.

This would be the end of their relationship. That was all that she could think. She could not help it. Tears burned in her eyes. He must hate her, dirty smoking Asian girl, too tall, getting old, so ugly …

Then she felt his hands touching her hand, guiding her gently to sit down at a nearby bench. He sat beside her, so close that she could feel the heat of his body and the faint scent of his cologne.

“Lily,” he said. “Lily …”

The words failed him. He was not a man of great emotion and emotion was driving his train right now.

He raised up her hand that still held her cigarette. He kissed that hand again, carefully, savoring again the scent of fresh tobacco in the air and upon her skin.

“Lily, I, Lily, I love you.”

He had said it. And now he gently guided that pretty, cigarette-holding hand of hers to her lips. He touched her cheek gently as she complied with his unspoken request and inhaled a healing puff of smoke. He leaned in as the smoke vanished down her throat and kissed her lips as the cigarette left them. As she turned her head to exhale, he gently turned it back and kissed her lips again as the smoke spilled forth, tasting the warmth and wetness of her lips through a mist of menthol.

And then he held her, just held her, wanting to never let go, as the tears fell, as her sobs came and went, as she let out all the pent-up frustration and emotion of having to choose between two loves, as she realized now that she had perhaps met the one man on earth who would not demand that she decide between them.

Most men would abhor. Some would tolerate. He would kneel at her smoky altar and worship.