I’m just about to drown my sorrows in another tamale when I sense a movement behind me in the doorway; I turn around and there he is in his uniform and a Sox cap, smile as sheepish and crooked as the first day he joined the club. He catches my eye and grins.
I smile back, wide and honest.
It occurs to me that our story, whatever it might turn out to be, is far from over.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, shrugging a little shyly. “I needed to finish the book.”