Chapter 5

I was at the front door with the fancy scrolled letters in gold. Becca’s desk and at least twelve feet of carpeting was between us, that and our turbulent past. “You remember.” I smiled nervously.

“Of course, I remember.” He set the book he’d chosen down beside a fall foliage centerpiece on a shiny console table once his feet hit the floor. “It’s only been six years.”

“Seven.”

“Oh.”

We stood still a moment, and then he came to me. Though I’d rehearsed the moment in my head a dozen times, every bit of dialogue I’d tried to commit to memory vanished when Angel hugged me.