He was expecting paper bags and a quick exchange at the door.
He was not expecting her.
The rain had been going since mid-afternoon, the serious kind that settles in and commits, and when Tyler heard the doorbell he was already moving toward it in the distracted way of a man expecting dinner delivery. He opened the door with one hand and reached forward with the other.
Then he stopped.
She was standing on the porch in a faded delivery jacket, a damp baseball cap angled down over her face, both hands extended with a bag. The porch light caught her at the angle it catches people when they are trying not to be seen looking tired.
Same dimples.
Same wide brown eyes, even with exhaustion in them.
Same soft mouth he had watched smiling at him under prom lights twenty years ago when he was seventeen years old and
