“I saved you the pickle juice.”

He smiled. “Thank you,” he said, but he left the jar in my outstretched hand. I lowered my arm and set the jar on the table beside me. I looked into his eyes. He didn’t seem to mind me staring.

“I still can’t get used to you being around again,” I said.

“I know,” he answered. On his lips were the words, “But you know I never really left,” though he left them unsaid.

I sighed, and he folded me into his arms, rubbing his hands slowly and smoothly up and down my back. I buried my face into his chest the way I remembered doing when I was little. His smell reminded me of home.


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