“How—” I start to ask. “Why are you here? In Nana’s house?”
He looks over his shoulder, up at the house. “She passed it on to me, after she…” His voice fades, and I know.
“When?” I ask.
“Four years back. She went quick. She was sick for a while.”
“Were you with her?”
He nods. “I flew out to see her a couple times a year. On the anniversary of when you went missing, and again for her birthday. I made sure she was okay. And I think after we got your note, and she knew you were safe, she stopped fighting so hard. She didn’t have to stay to wait for you.”
Tears spill down my cheeks. “Thank you. Thank you for being with her. For always being…” He nods, not needing me to finish. He was always a good one. He was always better than I deserved. And he took care of Nana up until the end. He visited her more than I ever did. I wipe at the tears, breathing deeply. “And now you live here?”
“I thought it would just be a summer house, but after a couple years, I decided to move in permanently.”
“And the café?”
He tips his eyes down, then back up. There’s weariness in the creased edges, remnants of sleepless nights, of the tears he’s shed over the years. “It’s still there, just how you remember it.” I like this—the idea of the café still serving customers in that tiny space, a handful of tables on the sidewalk during the summer months, on the days when the sky is clear. The scent of pasta with capers drifting into the streets, artichoke hearts dipped in olive oil, and thick slices of tiramisu melting on forks. “I wrote a book, a cookbook—three actually. They’ve done really well. I’ve done well. The café manages itself now.”
“That’s amazing, James.” I want to sob. There are so many questions twisting inside me—so much time lost between us—but I know I don’t have much time. “And… is there anyone—I mean, did you ever get married?” The question is selfish: I want to know that he’s okay, that he fell in love, that my leaving didn’t unravel some part of him that couldn’t be repaired.
He nods. “A woman who worked with me at the café for a while. It didn’t last. Got divorced a couple years after.”
“Sorry.”
He shrugs. “Not your fault. Well… or maybe—”
I laugh. “I had planned to come back and marry you,” I tell him, the truth. “I even wore the ring for a while.”
We are both quiet, a remembering in both our eyes—of what we were. Of what almost was.
“I did love you—” I try again. “I never wanted to hurt you. But I don’t think it would have worked. I think I was always looking for something.”
“I know. And I loved you too much.”
I nod, rubbing my hands together, wishing I could stitch the past into something less painful.
“Are you happy?” I ask.
He looks at the sea, considering this, eyes narrowing. “I am. Been seeing a woman who runs the old B&B in town. It’s easy, uncomplicated. She reminds me of you… actually.”
Sadness stings my eyes, and without thinking, I step forward and wrap my arms around his neck. It takes a minute for his hands to settle against my back, as if, up until this moment, he wasn’t entirely sure I was real. Perhaps I was simply a hallucination, his mind splintering in half, but now, he can feel my heartbeat through my chest. And there’s no denying that I’m real.
“A part of me thought you vanished on purpose,” he whispers into my hair. “That you ran away so we wouldn’t have to get married.”
I pull back from him. “Faked my own death just to avoid walking down the aisle?”
He grins. “It would make for a good story.”
“I’m not that clever.”
“I also knew you’d never do that to your nana.”
I nod, our arms still clutching each other. And this close, I can see how handsome he still is, beneath the roughness of his beard. In his eyes, he is still James. Kind and centered and good.
“I still keep the light on for you, just like your nana always did, every night.” He flashes a look to the house, where the porch light glows goldenand steady. When his eyes swing back, he lifts a hand and touches my face. “It’s remarkable. You haven’t aged a day.”
I let his hand linger against me, feeling its warmth, remembering the kindness of his touch. “I’ve aged in other ways.”
