“Mallory,” the voice on the other end of the phone said.

“Sarah,” I replied easily, a brief smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

She laughed and agreed. “Sorry, been busy. New job and all that. You know how it is.”

I leaned against the kitchen counter, halting the chopping of bell peppers and onions I’d been preparing for dinner. “Not me. Creature of habit. Been doing the same thing since the day I was born.”

“Don’t I know it.” There was something a little harsher in the tone of her voice, but it was gone the next time she spoke. “So, nothing new with you?”

“Nope. But how about you? How is the new job going?”

“Great,” Sarah said. “Well, it’s always hard starting to work at a new company. But great. Everyone is kind, and it’s hard work but rewarding.”

I nodded to myself, wondering why Sarah was calling me. We hadn’t spoken in over a year. “I’m glad to hear it.” And I was. Sarah was an amazing person and deserved all the happiness in the world. None of which I could give her.

“You must be wondering why I’m calling,” she said a little self-consciously. “I was wondering if you wanted to come over for a drink?”

“Uh,” I stammered. “When?”

“How about tonight? You’re not doing anything, are you?”

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea, Sarah.”

There was a long, long pause on the other end of the line. And then a deep sigh. “You’re still chasing after ghosts, Mallory?”

“I don’t know how to do anything differently,” I replied honestly.

“What if it’s only a drink? No strings attached? I’m not asking for anything, Mallory. I’m not looking for anything, especially not considering how catastrophically bad it ended between us. But I still like spending time with you—as a friend, if nothing else. And I miss you. I wouldn’t mind your company tonight.”

The idea of forgetting about the world for a few hours was tantalizing. Sarah knew that. I knew that. But we both also knew I’d say no.

“I’m sorry. It’s not a good idea,” I answered gently.

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that.” She sounded resigned but not angry. I knew what Sarah sounded like when she was angry or upset.

“Sarah?”

“Yes?”

“I am sorry about how things ended with us. Truly.”

Another sigh. “I know, Mallory. You’re a good person. But you’re obviously hung up on someone else. We gave it an honest try. We weren’t a good fit.”

“Maybe coffee some other time?” I suggested.

“Yeah. That sounds great. Call me sometime.”

I agreed. We said our goodbyes and hung up.

I looked down at the barely-chopped carrots on the cutting board in front of me, suddenly aware of how badly I needed a drink.

Without another thought of dinner, I pocketed my keys and wallet, slipped on shoes and a jacket, and climbed into the cab of my truck.

I drove through the quiet Banff streets, listening to the soft hum of music coming through the speakers.

Without meaning to, I found myself at a pub I hadn’t been to in years. The Anchor of the Sea. After parking, I stared at the sign for a moment or two, chuckling at myself for my own sappy sentimentality.

It was just a pub.

I hopped out of my truck and locked the doors. But I caught a glimpse of myself in the driver’s side mirror and paused. Christ, I was finally starting to look my age. Forty-four. I looked it now, when I used to always be told I looked on the young side for my age. Now there were a few gray hairs making an appearance around my temples and in my trimmed beard. The bags under my eyes weren’t anything new. I hadn’t slept in years.

I pushed in through the front doors of the pub, immediately remembering it was a Friday night. The music was a little louder and sounded more like Top 40s than classic. There were tables of young people mixed in with the older crowd. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I made my way over to the long bar in the center and took a seat on one of the stools. There were other people—most around my age—sitting around the bar, staring up at the televisions above the shelves of liquor.

The bartender, a young woman with a tight black T-shirt, came over to me and smiled easily.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Glass of Crown on the rocks, please.”

She left and returned not even a minute later with a clear glass filled with a splash of amber-colored whiskey. I handed her a bill and told her to keep the change.

Next to me, a couple started laughing. I couldn’t help but glance over at them, looking at the way they leaned into one another and how when they spoke, their eyes never strayed from each other’s faces.

I wrapped my fingers around the glass and contemplated getting drunk and taking a cab home. But I had to open the shop early. Not that I couldn’t work with a headache and a bit of a hangover. I’d done it before. Hell, it wouldn’t even be the first time this month.

Near the back of the pub, a group of twenty-somethings shouted something in cheers. I couldn’t help but smile a little, thinking of Danny, wondering what he was doing right then. A few years ago, I’d probably have assumed he was out doing much the same as his old man, only not on his own. But Danny had settled down a bit these days. He’d been hired straight out of school at a young start-up that took up most of his free time but made him smile each time he talked. Even thinking of his smile made me miss him. I hadn’t seen him in months, not since I’d flown down to visit him last. He’d barely had time to visit.

I took another sip of my whiskey, then pulled my phone out of my pocket. I quickly shot Danny a text message, asking him to call me tomorrow sometime so we could talk about him coming up to visit this summer.

Spring was already beginning to leave us, and summer was fast encroaching. Danny loved summer in Banff. The hiking, going to the beach, sometimes even fishing, if the weather was nice enough.

Suddenly, cheers sounded throughout the pub. I looked up at the television, noticing a baseball game was on.

I smiled to myself, happy in my decision to leave the solitude of my house. Sometimes, just being around other people was good for the sanity.

With fingers wrapped around my glass, I went to take another drink but paused.

I set the glass down hard, unsure of why I felt like I’d been shot through the heart. There sat a nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach, and my chest ached like someone had reached inside and was trying desperately to snap my heart in two.

I looked around.

The couple next to me was still smiling at each other, talking loudly over the music. Next to them was an older man with his eyes glued to the television screen. The bartender looked at my glass briefly but turned away when she noticed it was still mostly full.

Near the back of the bar, next to where the large pool table was tucked into a corner, the huge table of young people once again cheered.

There must’ve been around twelve or thirteen of them. Three of them were loudly singing along to the music. Some had phones out and were showing off their screens. Some were pointing at the televisions above the bar. One couple was making out. Another was arguing. One woman was downing her tall, pink drink with one arm up in the air as her friend cheered her on.

They were all laughing, smiling, glowing, and full of life.

All but one.

One sat farthest toward the back.

Around him, the world continued.

Around me, the world must’ve continued as well. But it didn’t feel like it.

He stared down at the table in front of him. The dim lighting above his head seemed to make his blond hair glow like a halo.

He might’ve still looked like an angel, but even from a mile away, I would be able to see the devil on his shoulder.

Archer.

---

My heart ached like it hadn’t in almost three years. Since the day he walked out the front door and I’d told myself again and again that things were better this way. For both of us.

But now, as I looked at him, my heart wasn’t so sure.

He was older, a little rougher, a little broader. His face had lost some of the softness to it, while straighter lines now created his jaw.

God, it hurt. It hurt to even look at him. It hurt to remember seeing his smile or watching his brow furrow whenever he had puzzle pieces scattered in front of him. It hurt to see some of the sparkle missing from his eyes.

Hell, it hurt to know that he was there, only feet away from me, and yet I’d probably never again feel the touch of his skin against my own.

For the briefest of moments, I entertained leaving right then without saying a word. I could pretend I hadn’t seen him and save him the grief of knowing I was there. But he was in Banff, of all places in the world. Even though it was a relatively big city, he’d have to have known, coming here, that there was a possibly of running into me.

Maybe he didn’t care if he did. Maybe he’d forgotten about me—about everything—years ago. I hoped for his sake, he had.

And while one part of me—the part that was a coward—wanted to flee, a bigger part of me knew I couldn’t. I couldn’t see Archer and not speak with him.

I tried to tell myself not to stare at him, but it was too difficult not to. He sat against the far wall, almost like a ghostly figure surrounded by people who couldn’t see him.

My mind began to race.

I wondered if he remembered coming to this place with me. I wondered if he remembered what happened… after.

Someone put a hand on his shoulder. Another man, taller than him, around his own age. The guy was attractive, I noted with a sickening feeling when I saw the way he looked at Archer. The handsome man leaned in closer, his dark hair brushing against Archer’s cheek when he smiled and whispered something into his ear.

I remembered whispering things into Archer’s ear.

Things I meant. Promises I wished I’d kept.

I remembered the sound of his voice when I’d made those promises. I remembered the pads of his fingers against my naked back. I remembered…

Archer looked up at the other man. There was a look on his face—something in his expression that made me want to jump off my barstool and hurl it through the front window.

“Excuse me,” I said on impulse when the bartender walked past me.

She stopped, smiled, and asked, “What can I get you?”

“That blond man over there.” I tipped my head in the group’s direction. “Can I get you to send a drink over to him for me?”

“Sure. Same as what you’re drinking?”

“Please.”

When she left, I didn’t have the courage to watch her pour the whiskey or the courage to watch the server bring the drink to Archer’s table. I didn’t know if they’d say whom the drink was from or if it mattered.

I’d finish my drink and then leave. If Archer didn’t want to talk to me again, well, I understood. It made my chest seize, but I understood.

So I stared up at the television screen, sipping my drink on occasion, not seeing or hearing anything else around me.

The bartender walked past me twice to help other customers.

To my right, the couple that’d been sitting there asked for their tab.

Someone sat down on the stool next to me.

My heart threatened to pound out of my chest.

“Mallory,” he said.

I turned to him. And when our eyes met, I knew in that sliver of a second what a huge mistake I’d made.

“Archer,” I replied, trying my hardest to force a smile onto my face but failing entirely.

Archer didn’t even try to smile at me. Not that I could blame him. There was nothing to smile about between us. Not now. Not anymore.

He slid the glass of whiskey over to me and said, “I don’t drink whiskey anymore.”

“Lost the taste?”

He stared at me. Hard. “Still trying.”

“Banff, huh?” I asked.

“Are we making small talk?” The hardness in his voice was made of the same stones as mountains.

I sighed heavily, then turned toward him fully. We sat eye to eye. Knees almost touching. Close enough that if I reached out, I could touch his neck, his cheek, his face.

His shoulders were wider now than I’d noticed before, and his chest and arms looked more muscled. He wore a plain T-shirt, blue jeans, and a scowl. There were dark circles under his eyes, but that was nothing new. Archer wore his demons on the outside—just like me.

“You look different,” I found myself saying.

“Three years is a long time,” he replied coolly.

“You look good,” I said, trying to ease the frown off his face, realizing too late that my comment would likely only serve to make it deeper.

But he said nothing. His gaze trailed up my body and over my face, but his expression didn’t change.

And he still said nothing.

Someone else might’ve thought he was still angry. And maybe he was. But I could see hurt on Archer as easily as I could see the sun in the sky on a summer afternoon.

“You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, Archer,” I said softly.

He hesitated for a moment, and I thought he’d stand to leave. Instead, he said, “I’m in Banff working for a while.” He pointed over his shoulder with a thumb. “Co-workers.”

“Ah, well, you always did seem to like Banff.”

“I didn’t want to come back here.”

“No,” I said in agreement. “You probably didn’t.”

I had a million questions to ask him. And I knew there would be a million answers he wouldn’t tell me. So I tried my best not to press.

I asked, “Do you still do puzzles?”

His reply came with a shrug. “Sometimes. The place I live is noisy. And my roommates won’t leave an unfinished puzzle on the table for more than an hour.”

“That’s a shame.”

He absently began running his fingers up and down the untouched glass of whiskey. “I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here, but I am.”

I nodded. “I know the feeling.”

“I wouldn’t have been surprised if I hadn’t seen you the entire time I spent here in Banff. And now here you are, after only being here for two days.”

“I was in an odd state of mind earlier today. I haven’t been to this pub in years.”

Staring down at the counter, he softly said, “A part of me thought I’d made the entire thing up. Made you up too.”

Without thinking, I grabbed his arm. “None of that was made up. Not one second.”

When Archer looked up at me, the entire world tilted.

He stood and shrugged my hand off his arm. “It’s easier if I tell myself it was.”

“Archer.” I stood as well, my gaze fixed down on his face. “Will you ever forgive me? Can you?”

A cold expression covered his once-soft features. “Why do you even want my forgiveness? You made it perfectly clear years ago that you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

In a whisper, I said, “I still think of you. I still dream of you.”

“What do you want from me, Mallory?”

“I—” I halted, surprised by his question that I didn’t have an answer for.

What did I want from him? What he’d offered me years ago? Was that what I wanted now? Still? Or was I simply living in the past, longing for the life he’d brought me for those few short months? Could we find solace within each other now that all this time had passed?

“That’s what I thought,” he snapped.

He turned and started to walk away, but acting on instinct, I reached out and once again grasped his arm. “Archer—”

“Everything okay here?” a voice interrupted.

One of Archer’s friends—another man around his age—stood a few feet from us, his eyes looking between me, Archer, and my hand on his arm.

When he looked at Archer, there was something in his expression that made my stomach flop.

“Yeah, Derek,” Archer replied, yanking his arm away from me.

“Who’s this?” Derek asked him, eyes on my face.

“My friend Danny’s dad.”

Archer’s hit landed home. That was all I was to him now—Danny’s father. I felt sick to my stomach knowing this was exactly what I’d asked for years ago when I told Archer he meant nothing to me.

For a few strenuous seconds, none of us said a word.

“Let’s go,” Archer said, putting his hand on Derek’s arm.

I didn’t say a word as they walked away.