“Why are you here?” This wasn’t the closest coffee shop to his house. He ran a slow thumb over my palm as he continued to hold my hand. “This is where I go for coffee now.” “Really?” I said. “The one closest to my house?” “Yes,” he answered. “I wanted to see you, if only for a minute.” “And what if I want to see you for more than a minute?” I asked. “Do you?” he asked. “Can you forgive me?” We stopped next to his car, which was parked along the curb, and he opened the passenger door for me. “My car is in the parking lot,” I said. “Meet me at my house?” “Can I drive you? Please.” I smiled. “Are
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