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Doing the only thing I can think of to get Amelia out of my head, I reach over and grab the little cardboard box that’s been sitting on my kitchen island for the two weeks since Christmas.

Opening it, I grab one of the postcards at random.

I’ve read them all, but the words hit me all over again like it’s the first time.

My Dearest Clara,

Summer is turning into fall now, and it has been five months since I have heard from you. You are always on my mind. Your voice is never far from my thoughts, and your face comes back to me in dreams. And I wonder. What has happened to you, my love?

I am, as ever, yours.

Always,

Henry

Okay, so maybe I picked the wrong one if forgetting about the girl invading my thoughts, the one whose face visits me in dreams, was the goal.

Like it does every time I read one of the postcards, my brain spins, wondering what happened to Henry, and whether he and my great-grandmother ever found each other. Since she married someone else and built an entire life, I’m betting they didn’t.

The burning need to solve this mystery—to find Henry and his Clara—comes roaring back.

I haven’t told anyone about the letters; somehow it felt like they were left there just for me to find.

But I decide to let Cece in on the secret as soon as I can.

Clara was her mother, so if anyone would know, it’s her.

Taking the last sip of my coffee, I push the box and my tablet aside, shoving a couple spoonfuls of cereal into my mouth.

With Killer curled up in a ball on the kitchen floor, fast asleep, my apartment is quiet.

Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes me think about what it would be like to have someone here with me.

Someone to share breakfast with and laugh with over coffee and Killer’s ridiculous antics.

I have a good life. A happy one full of family and brothers and love and fun.

But ever since my relationship ended a couple of years ago, I’ve felt this gnawing ache in my gut that feels a lot like loneliness and a deep desire to be understood.

To be known , all the way down. Not just as Elliot, the always happy guy who likes everyone and organizes all the things and remembers birthdays and can handle my shit and everyone else’s too.

But as me. The person who feels too much and whose brain sometimes goes dark and who does things like bring plants back to life and rescues a tiny dog from a shelter on a whim because she looked sad.

Even my brothers don’t really know all the sides to me.

They could, if you let them see .

The thought is as sudden as it is unwelcome and I push out of my stool, groaning because fuck introspection .

I wash my bowl and mug and set them on the drying rack by the sink, then fill up a to go mug with my second cup of coffee.

Killer wakes up just as I’m leaving the kitchen, and I stoop to rub a hand over her soft head.

“Stay away from my plants. Cece is stopping by to get you in a little bit. You’re hanging with her today. ”

Killer lets out a little yip and I laugh when her tiny tongue pokes out and licks my hand. “I know; I love Cece too. Catch you later, Killer girl.”

Grabbing my jacket and briefcase from the closet, I head out the door for the first day of school.

An hour later I’m leaning a hip against the desk at the front of a classroom, glancing over my notes as students start to file in. Every now and then, one of them tosses out a “good morning Dr. Wyles,” and the room has that first day of school fresh start air Jo was talking about this morning.

I love teaching. I don’t love all the politics and publish or perish of academia, but it’s a small price to pay for getting to do the thing I love, which is basically just to geek out over computers with a bunch of PhD students.

Glancing at the clock, I push up off the desk and look around the room, smiling at the familiar faces. “Good morning. I think I know all of you, so I’ll dispense with the formalities and just say, welcome to Design, Technology, and Social Impact. This semester we’re going to…”

My words trail off when, for a second time this morning, a door flies open right in front of me and a woman rushes in muttering apologies, brown hair flying. I’m about to tell her to find a seat and not to worry about it but when I open my mouth, no sounds come out.

It’s the smell that hits me first.

Sunshine in the spring.

Then those gold and green flecked eyes meet mine.

My stomach bottoms out and just like that morning at airport security, my feet glue themselves to the floor, and I can’t do anything but stare.

Because it’s her. Amelia. Mystery girl from the plane. Standing in my classroom, tote bag slung over her shoulder, gorgeous flush crawling up her face as her gaze stays locked on mine.

The room is silent. No one else exists but her and me and the string I can feel but I can’t see tugging us towards each other.

Holy. Fuck.

She’s here.

No one gets this lucky.

I grin at her, opening my mouth to say…I have no idea what. Probably something like I’ve been looking for you . Or, Why didn’t you wait for me at baggage claim ? Or, I think you’re my soulmate . Or, at the very least, Hi, you’re gorgeous.

All very normal things to say to one of your students.

It’s probably better for all parties involved that she beats me to it.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Professor Wyles.

Parking was a nightmare. I swear it won’t happen again.

” The smile she gives me is tight at the edges and the raspy voice of my dreams is professional and clipped.

My smile drops a fraction, but the glow inside of me never dims. Because for the first time in six months, I know where my mystery girl is and she’s right here.

And right here is the best place. I can work with right here.

I reach for professional teacher mode now. There’s time for everything else later.

“No worries; Cambridge can be a disaster in the morning. Find a seat. We’ve barely even started.”

She scans the room for an empty seat and slides into one in the second row. And I teach the class, my eyes on her the entire time.