“I can’t believe you’re really here,” he all but whispers. No, his voice does not make goosebumps rise on my arms. I try, I really try, not to look at his chiseled face, now covered in a trimmed beard, but Jesus, he doesn’t make it easy. And despite the fact that he’s changed in the past years, I only need one good look at him to know I could still draw him in my sleep. My lips stay shut. His throat bobs before he says, “How have you been?”
