We kept the conversation light during dinner, chatting about Ohio, the university, and the people we knew in common. He handed me the stack of mail Darren had collected, and disappointment stabbed through me.

“Is that why we’re having dinner?” I asked, my voice steady only with effort. “So you can give me my mail?”

He watched me silently for a long moment. Finally, he said, “No.” Just the one word.

“So why are you here, Maxwell?”

“I’m here having dinner with a beautiful woman,” he replied smoothly. “Why are you here, Megan?”

I looked at him, my answer echoing words I’d spoken to him so many months ago. “Because...