Somehow, I found my voice.

“Sebastian, what are you doing here?” That was the best I could come up with.

His hair had gotten longer over the last six months and now hung over his brow, almost into his eyes. I decided I liked how it looked.

“I’m here for an interview at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I’ve always wanted to see what New York was like, ever since you told me about it, and now I am finally here.”

“You’re here for an interview? You mean you’re here for good?” I was dismayed at how squeaky my voice sounded.

He threw his head back and laughed. “This is what I like best about you – you always say what is on your mind. Yes, ma petite, I am here for good. If you’ll have me.”

The twinkle left his eyes and his face turned suddenly serious. I noticed the fine lines stretching out from the corner of his eyes. They hadn’t been there before.

“These past six months have been terrible for me. I’m not asking for your pity – I deserve your anger, your hate. But after you left, I realized something.”