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Lucien

Eleven years and here she is on his porch. He remembers this: she’d never call, just show up and wait.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” she says.

“I’m still not going to be what you want,” he says. It hurts, but feels right.

Smiling lopsided, she tucks hair over an ear. She looks older, but not much. “What I want right now is coffee.”

Lucien takes a long breath, unhooks his coat from the wall, and suddenly it’s that easy. He locks the door behind them and they walk, close but not touching, two battered hearts making an old and comfortable mistake.

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