“Call me old-fashioned.” “I don’t think you’re old-fashioned.” She was standing near the wall, staring up at the picture that had won me so many awards. “Passé?” I asked as I handed her the glass. “Timeless,” she answered with a grin. I wished instantly that she was speaking of us. Weren’t we though? Timeless? Nothing could change what we’d had all those years before, even if the idea of what might’ve been lingered between us.
