I ordered a coffee, found a seat, and opened my computer. I pulled up some preliminary information and was reviewing it when I heard a voice coming from off to the side.

“Russ?”

It was impossible not to recognize her. Her chestnut hair brushed her shoulders, and was styled in a way that accented her naturally high cheekbones, while her hazel eyes were as striking as they’d always been.

“Emily?” I asked.

She started toward the table, holding a cup of coffee. “I thought that was you in the studio,” she said. “How are you? Long time no see.”

“I’m doing well,” I said, rising from the table. Surprising me, she leaned in for a quick hug, which triggered a flood of happy memories. “What are you doing here? Why were you in the studio? ”

“My son’s in the class,” she said. “Takes after his mom, I guess.” Her smile held genuine warmth. “You look great.”

“Thanks. You, too. How are you doing?” Up close, I noticed that her eyes were flecked with gold, and I wondered whether I’d never noticed before.

“I’m doing okay.”

“Just okay?”

“Yeah, you know. Life.”

I understood exactly what she meant and though she’d tried to hide it, I thought I heard in her tone a flicker of sadness. The next word came out almost automatically, even as I realized that spending time with a person you once loved and slept with can get complicated if one isn’t careful. “Would you like to join me?”

“You sure? You look busy.”

“I’m just doing some research. No big deal.”

“Then I’d love to,” she said. “But I can only stay a few minutes. I’ve got some things I want to ship to my mom and depending on the line, it can take forever.”

When we were seated, I looked at her, amazed that it had been almost eleven years since our breakup. Like Vivian, she hadn’t seemed to have aged at all, but I pushed the thought away, steering myself back to safer ground. “How old is your son?”

“Five,” she answered. “He’ll be starting kindergarten in the fall.”

“My daughter, too,” I said. “Where will he be going?”

When she mentioned the name of the school, I raised an eyebrow. “What a coincidence. That’s where London’s going, too.”

“It’s supposed to be great.”

And expensive, I thought. “That’s what I hear, too,” I said. “How are your mom and dad doing?” I asked. “I haven’t talked to them in years.”

“They’re doing well. My dad is finally retiring next year.”

“From AT&T?”

“Yup – he was a lifer. He told me he wants to get an RV and travel the country. Of course, Mom wants nothing to do with that, so she’s going to continue to work at the church until my dad’s whimsy passes.”

“St. Michael’s?”

“Of course. Both my parents worked at the same place their entire lives. That just doesn’t happen anymore. How about you? Are you still working for the Peters Group?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed you remembered. But no, I left there a few months ago and went out on my own.”

“How’s it going?”

“It’s going,” I hedged.

“That’s exciting. I remember you telling me you wanted to be an entrepreneur.”

“I was young and naïve back then. Now, I’m old but still naïve.”

She laughed. “How’s Vivian?”

“She’s doing well. She just started working again. I didn’t realize you knew her.”

“I don’t. I saw her at the studio a few times earlier this summer, but she never stayed for the class. She was always dressed in workout clothes.”

“Sounds like her. How’s… your husband?”

“You mean David?” She tilted her head.

“Sure,” I said. “David.”

“We’re divorced. As of last January.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“How long were you married?”

“Seven years.”

“May I ask what happened?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s hard to explain. To say we drifted apart sounds clichéd… Lately, when people ask, I just tell them that the marriage worked until it didn’t, but that isn’t the answer most people want to hear. It’s like they want to be able to gossip about it later, or boil it down to a single incident.” As she spoke, she rubbed her thumb against her index finger. “How long have you and Vivian been together?”

“We’re coming up on nine years now.”

“There you go,” she said. “Good for you.”

“Thanks.”

“So Vivian started working again?”

I nodded. “She’s working for a big developer here in town. Public relations. How about you? Are you working?”

“I guess you can call it that. I still paint.”

“Really?”

“My ex was good about that. Encouraging me, I mean. And it’s been going well. I mean, I’ll never be a Rothko or Pollock, but I’m represented by one of the galleries downtown and I sell ten or twelve pieces a year.”

“That’s fantastic,” I said, meaning it. “You always had such talent. I remember watching you paint and wondering how you knew what to do with the colors and the…” I trailed off, trying to recall the right word.