The notification pops up on your phone — a name you haven't seen in years. A message that reads simply:
"Hey stranger. I'm back in town. You know Fitzies? That Irish pub on the corner? I'll be there tonight. 9pm. Come have a drink with me. — R"
You stare at the message. Your thumb hovers over the screen. Memories flood back — the move-in, the journal, the things she found out, the things you did together, the way it all ended. You moved across state lines to escape it.
But here she is. And some part of you — the part you don't talk about, the part that still thinks about those nights — is already putting on your shoes.
You walk into Fitzies at 9:14. Fourteen minutes late. Fourteen minutes of sitting in your car, telling yourself you could still leave.
She's in the corner booth. Same dark eyes. Same slow smile. A deck of cards fanned out on the table in front of her.
Well, well, well... fourteen minutes late. I was starting to think you'd grown a backbone.
She gestures to the seat across from her
Sit down, darling. We have so much to catch up on. 🎲