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He has a harshness in his voice I’ve never heard from him before. It isn’t necessarily toward me, it feels more directed at the world.

The only thing I know for sure is his smile. The goofiness still runs through him. It’s hidden deeper—but it’s there. The scruff on his face is surely different.

His eyes brighten for a moment as we stand uncomfortably.

“Coffee?” I ask quickly.

He leans in, listening. “What?”

I ask again quickly, before I can back out of my own thought. “Will you meet me for coffee tomorrow morning?”

“I’m not so sure…” His eyes blink slowly.

“Oh, right—I don’t know what I was thinking.”

I’m mortified. What was I thinking? That he’d just want to spend time with me after I broke his heart?

A smile plays on his lips as he watches me fluster. “Billie?”

“Yeah?” I guarantee I look red as a beet right now.

“I’m just messing with you.” His hair falls over his eyes as he chuckles at me.

I fake a small laugh. “I see you haven't lost your sense of humor,” I say, breathing out harshly.

“Unfortunately not.” He looks up at me from under his long lashes.

His left hand doesn’t have a ring and I don’t see a tan line from one either. I guess he’s not married. When Sean did come to mind over the years, I always pictured him married to a beautiful woman. His confidence was something that any woman would gravitate toward.

“Across the street, at the building that looks like a church, they have great lattes. We can meet there?” he suggests.

“Nine?”

He gives me a light nod with a smile, walking off to the customers that came through the door a minute ago.

I walk out as quickly as I entered and can’t help but feel a tingle of satisfaction. A feeling I haven't felt in a very long time.

I take a quick glance back, making sure it wasn’t a dream.

Sean’s watching me as he speaks to the couple. Our eyes meet for a millisecond before he quickly looks away.

◆◆◆

I guess my dad goes to sleep pretty early now because he’s already disappeared into his room and it’s only eight o’clock.

Or maybe he’s avoiding me. It’s strange, we’re not fully comfortable together anymore. Time apart will do that, even if you are father and daughter.

My dad has a second fridge in the garage full of drinks and snacks, so I head that way, quietly. Of course nothing has changed in here. The shelves are still full of boxes. In the corner, my old memory box sits, untouched. It’s pretty beat up at this point. The Statue of Liberty print has a large dent across her face.

I carefully grab it and take it back to my room, ignoring my growling stomach.

I open the magnetic top and everything comes flooding back. All my high school memories—from playbills, old poems I’d write, and ticket stubs—all crammed in here with dust layering the surface.

At the very top is a framed picture of Rosie and I on the first day of junior year. She moved to Phoenix to study biology and we completely lost contact after senior year.

Old pictures and random trinkets spread over the floor when I spot envelopes—the letters.

After Sean left for the army and started basic training, they were only allowed to communicate through mail. He’d write every month, leaving a small heart by my name.