see below

She held her hand out. He took it.
They walked—not into the sunset or some sherbeted version of happily-ever-after.
Rather, they walked, her left hand in his right, down the sidewalk. It was an ordinary sidewalk, as far as sidewalks go, except where glass marbles we're paved intermittently in the concrete.
There was an eroded but still red fire hydrant, surrounded by chipped yellow paint, that they passed while traversing with hands held. Awnings for various and sundry shops provided transitory cover from skies that threatened perspiration while palms, not yet sweaty, gripped each other’s. The pavement that bore their feet was cracked with negligible irregularity, yellow dandelions shot up through the breaks, swinging their weary heads to stay out of their path, even as the shadow from their linked bodies splashed immemorably across slate canvass. She lifted her chin and eyelashes, sifting light through frail obstructions.
I like walking with you, she said to him, memorizing his face. 
I do too, he said, never turning away from the sun.
The sidewalk receded quietly.