I dress up to meet her, a nervous lump in my throat. My hands are clammy. I keep wiping them on my pants as I wait for her at the bar. I’m sitting on a high stool; my feet keep slipping. I glance at myself in the mirror behind the bar. Jesus, I’ve aged. I wonder if she’ll even recognize me.

It’s a trendy joint; the kind of place where the bartenders throw bottles around and the cocktails have ridiculous names like “swamp rat” and “cherry bomb.” The lights are very dim. It smells like polished oak and women’s perfume.

The people inside are mostly young professionals on nights out. A woman with a slinky back-baring blouse looks over her shoulder at me seductively, closing her lips around her pink straw. I look away.

After I realized it was definitely Sophie, my intention to ghost her didn’t go as planned. She sent a message telling that it took guts to reply to me, calling me out for vanishing.

I pictured her sitting alone, staring at her phone, wondering what she’d done wrong. Sophie always second-guessed herself.

I’m telling myself that reaching out to Sophie is an act of compassion so that she doesn’t believe a man shrugged her off, but that’s not the whole truth. I’ve always wondered what happened to her. I always felt guilty for how things ended between us. Maybe this is my chance to have some closure.

The bartender is watching me—I’ve been here for an hour already, having a drink to ease my nerves before my date with the past.

Suddenly, Sophie appears, and she hasn’t changed at all. She enters by the stairs at the far end of the underground bar. Her fair hair, just as long as the day I met her, shines under the low lights. The style is more mature than I remember, shaped around her face, a few highlights gleaming. Her long, shapely legs stretch out from beneath her classic little black dress, stilettos on her feet. She’s in good shape, her figure a perfect hourglass.

She looks like she did a decade ago, except maybe a little more sophisticated than she was back then. She peers around the bar expectantly. When she spots me, her mouth falls open slightly, and she gazes around again, as though hoping to see somebody else.

Her eyes meet mine. I hold her gaze. Now she understands. I’m the one you’re here to meet.

Something electric stirs through me. My heart beats faster at the sight of her standing there, and a thousand memories come flooding back. All at once, I feel ten years younger to see her, and painfully aware of how I’m no longer twenty-one.

No longer a success.

She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, so I stand and go to her before she can turn and flee. “Sophie. It’s good to see you.”

Her eyebrows draw together in confusion. She looks around again, then back to me. I can see tears in her eyes that she refuses to let fall. They hang there until she closes her eyes tightly and wills them back.

When she opens them again, her gaze is crystal clear and accusing.

“Come sit with me.”

As she follows me back to the bar, her expression is full of suspicion. She places her little black purse on the counter, and sits on a stool, one leg crossed over the other. Her eyes are narrow.

She growls at me, “What the fuck, Cole?”

I hold up my hands. “Please, let me explain.”

“I can’t believe this.” She shakes her head, scowling. “What the hell is going on?”

“It’s not what it seems like.”

“It seems like you dug out my number and tricked me into sending you those messages and meeting you here.”

“That’s not what happened.” She’s staring at me so intently that it feels like my words are drying up. She’s so beautiful. I clear my throat. “I’m seeing someone called Sophia.”

Sophie’s face is stony. “Are you saying you messaged me by mistake?”

“I’m so sorry. I broke my cell, so I used my old one as a back-up. The contacts merged. I must have sent the message to you by mistake. When I realized, I stopped writing back. I didn’t want to lead you on—plus I thought there was no way it could actually be you. I mean, who still has the same number ten years later?”

“I always ask for the number to be transferred,” she replies tightly. “You know I don’t like making life more complicated than it has to be.”

“I wanted you to know what happened. When you sent that message saying how hard it had been for you to talk to this guy in the first place, I felt bad.”

“And you thought the best thing to do was to let me think I was going on a date? I get dressed up and come to a romantic wine bar so that you could tell me this whole thing was a slip of the hand, and you’re very happy with a woman whose name is oh-so-funnily so similar to mine?”

“When you say it like that, it makes me sound like a moron.”

“You are a moron, Cole. What kind of dumbass thinks this is the best way to explain a situation like this? A simple ‘sorry, wrong number’ would have cleared it up. God, this is so like you. Always finding drama.” She grabs her purse and stands. “I’m going to go. Next time you sext the wrong woman, don’t let it go this far. I’m really embarrassed.”

I grab her arm. “Please don’t leave. I’m genuinely sorry I’ve handled this so badly, but it really is good to see you. Won’t you stay for a drink—for old time’s sake?”

Sophie falters. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She glances toward the door, then back at me. She raises her hands. “Fine.” She returns to her seat.

I beckon the waiter before she can change her mind. “Vodka and cranberry, please. And a red wine for me.”

Sophie raises her eyebrows. “You remember.”

“Of course, I do. Remember when we tried to learn the word for ‘cranberry’ in Thailand? How could I ever forget your drink after that debacle?”

A shadow of a smile appears at the edge of her lips, but she purses them quickly and throws her wave of hair back over her shoulder with a cold shrug. “It’s been a long time since Thailand. Are you still traveling all over the world?”

I bow my head. I can hardly bear to tell her the truth. “No. It didn’t work out.”

Her jaw clenches tighter. She says she’s sorry in a neutral tone, but her body language tells me that there’s a well of bitterness inside—and I don’t blame her. My devotion to my career was what tore us apart, and now there’s no career—and no us.

“You’re not a photographer anymore?”

“Wedding photography.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story. Maybe another time. What about you?”

“I’m still at the bank.”

“That’s great.”

We exchange an uncomfortable glance. Sophie didn’t want to work at the bank forever. She’d dreamed of going to college; a dream she put on hold while I built my own career. A career that is now in ashes.

“It’s not what I imagined I’d be doing ten years later, but I don’t hate it. I’m up for promotion in the next few months.”

“Fantastic. I always knew you’d do great things.”

“Did you? Because my career never seemed to be as important as yours.”

“You know I always planned to make it up to you.” I reach out and place my hand on her forearm. “You know I regret the way our marriage ended.”

“So, it’s a marriage now? I remember you using the word ‘elopement’ at least a dozen times when we went our separate ways.”

“It was what it was. I still regret giving you false hope. I guess we had different ideas of what the marriage would be. Maybe we should never have rushed in so quickly.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re single now, then?”

“Really, Cole?”

“What? I’m interested.”

“Yes, I’m single. And I’m working in the same job. And I’m living in a cheap apartment.” She casts me a seething glare, and I bow my head.

“I’ve thought about you a lot over the years.”

She doesn’t reply. She squeezes her eyes shut. Her expression is pained. She swallows back tears and grabs her purse. “This is too weird. I’m going home.”

“Let me call you a cab, at least.”

Sophie holds up a hand and shakes her head. “No. Thank you.”

She sweeps out the bar without looking back. I glance at her untouched vodka-cranberry, and an emptiness stirs within me. I gaze at the stairway where she was.

I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed her.

* * *

I stand in front of the ruins at Sukhothai Historical Park. Twilight is drawing in, casting a purple and orange glow over the remnants of the royal palaces and Buddhist temples.

The view is something else, but nothing compares to the look of wonder on Sophie’s face. I thread my arm around her, and she leans into my chest. Her long hair is drawn back into a ponytail, those sunglasses still perched on her head. The redness has gone from her face and turned tan, a few freckles emerging now that her skin has seen more of the sun.

We’ve only been traveling together for a couple of weeks, but I already feel like this girl is meant for me. In all the months I’ve been on the road, no moment has been more special than this one right now.

I turn to her. “I don’t want to go our separate ways tomorrow. Let’s scrap our plans and start again—together.”

Her eyes are wide when she faces me. Then her face breaks into a smile, and she nods. “Deal.”