Chapter 1: Departure

The 3:47 to Seattle was already twenty minutes late when Sarah finally found her seat in car seven. She'd been running through Union Station with her oversized duffel bag, cursing her inability to pack light and her tendency to underestimate Chicago traffic. Now, breathless and slightly disheveled, she collapsed into seat 14A and tried to regain some semblance of composure.

The train car was about half full—a mixture of business travelers, families, and what appeared to be a few adventurous souls choosing rails over airways. Sarah had opted for the train specifically to avoid the hassle of airports, but also because she needed time to think. Thirty-six hours of travel time between Chicago and Seattle would give her plenty of opportunity to figure out what she was going to say to Marcus when she arrived.

Or rather, what she was going to say when she broke up with him.

She was pulling out her phone to text her sister when she noticed him.

He sat across the aisle, one row up, absorbed in what looked like a well-worn paperback. Dark hair that caught the afternoon light, strong hands that turned pages with deliberate care, and when he shifted in his seat, she caught a glimpse of his profile—angular jaw, the kind of stubble that suggested he'd been traveling for a while.

Sarah found herself staring longer than was polite. There was something about the way he read—completely absorbed, occasionally smiling at something on the page—that made her curious about both the book and the man reading it.

The train lurched forward with a mechanical sigh, and her phone slipped from her hands, clattering across the aisle and landing squarely at his feet.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," she said, starting to unbuckle her seatbelt.

He looked up then, and she was struck by how green his eyes were. "No problem at all," he said, retrieving her phone and standing to hand it back to her. "I'm impressed it made it this far—that's quite a throw."

"Years of softball," she replied, accepting the phone and trying to ignore how warm his fingers were when they brushed hers. "Though usually I'm trying to hit something intentionally."

He laughed—a rich, genuine sound. "I'm David, by the way. David Chen."

"Sarah Mitchell. And thank you for the rescue."

"My pleasure. Long trip ahead?"

"Seattle. You?"

"Same, actually. Though I'm getting off in Spokane—visiting my sister before she moves to Portland." He gestured to the empty seat beside him. "The car's pretty empty. You're welcome to sit here if you want some company. I promise I'm not a train serial killer."

Sarah felt her cheeks warm. "How do I know you're not exactly what a train serial killer would say?"

"Excellent point. Would it help if I told you I'm reading Jane Austen?"

She glanced at his book. "Pride and Prejudice?"

"Emma, actually. It's my third time through." He held up the book, and she could see the creased spine, the dog-eared pages. "I teach high school English, and I'm trying to convince my students that Austen isn't just for period dramas."

"And is it working?"

"Slowly. Very slowly." He smiled again, and Sarah found herself genuinely charmed. "So, what do you say? Want to sit with someone who voluntarily reads 19th-century romance novels?"

Sarah looked around the car, at the empty seats and the long journey ahead, at this man who read Austen and had kind eyes and hands that looked like they might know how to touch someone gently.

"You know what?" she said, gathering her things. "I think I'd like that."

Chapter 2: Getting Acquainted

David helped her move her bags, and as she settled into the seat beside him, Sarah realized she felt more relaxed than she had in weeks. Maybe it was the anonymity of travel, or maybe it was the way he seemed genuinely interested when he asked about her life, but she found herself opening up in ways she hadn't expected.

"So what takes you to Seattle?" he asked as the train rolled through the Illinois countryside.

"Work, officially. I'm a photographer—well, trying to be. I have a meeting with a gallery owner who saw some of my work online." She paused, then decided to be honest. "And I'm also going to break up with my boyfriend."

David raised an eyebrow. "That's quite a combination. Work and heartbreak?"

"More like work and honesty. I've been avoiding this conversation for months, but being away from Chicago, away from our routine..." She shrugged. "Sometimes distance gives you clarity."

"What kind of photography do you do?"

Sarah pulled out her phone and showed him some of her recent work—street photography, mostly, candid moments of people in urban spaces. David studied each image carefully, asking thoughtful questions about composition and timing.

"These are beautiful," he said, lingering on a photo of an elderly man feeding pigeons in Millennium Park. "You have a real eye for capturing intimacy in public spaces."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do. Find those private moments that happen in plain sight." She looked at him curiously. "You seem to know something about photography."

"I took some classes in college, but I was never very good at it. I think I was too focused on the technical aspects and not enough on the emotional ones." He handed her phone back. "Your work has real feeling to it."

The compliment warmed her more than it should have. Marcus had always been supportive of her photography, but in an abstract way—the way you might support someone's hobby without really understanding it. David's appreciation felt different, more personal.

"What about you?" she asked. "Besides corrupting teenagers with Jane Austen?"

"I teach at a school in Minneapolis. Literature and creative writing. I've been there for eight years now." He paused, and something shifted in his expression. "I was married until about a year ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was... amicable. We both realized we'd grown into different people than we were when we got married. She's a doctor, incredibly dedicated to her work, and I'm... well, I'm the guy who takes three-day train trips to visit his sister and reads novels for fun." He smiled, but Sarah caught a hint of sadness in it. "We wanted different things."

"What did you want?"

David was quiet for a moment, watching the landscape roll by. "Connection, I suppose. Real conversation. Someone who understood why I might cancel dinner plans to finish a book, or why I collect vintage postcards, or why I think the best way to see the country is from a train window."

Sarah felt something flutter in her chest. "I love train travel. There's something about the rhythm of it, the way it forces you to slow down."

"Exactly. You can't rush a train. You have to surrender to its pace." He turned to look at her directly. "When was the last time you did that? Just... surrendered to the pace of something?"

The question caught her off guard. When had she last done that? She'd been rushing through life for months—rushing to build her photography career, rushing to figure out her relationship with Marcus, rushing to make decisions about her future.

"I honestly can't remember," she admitted.

"Well," David said, settling back in his seat, "we've got about thirty-four hours left. Plenty of time to practice."

Chapter 3: Evening Approaches

As the afternoon stretched into evening, their conversation meandered through topics both serious and silly. David told her about his students, about the boy who wrote poetry about video games and the girl who insisted that 

Shakespeare was just ancient fanfiction. Sarah shared stories from her various photography jobs—the bridezilla who wanted her wedding photos to look like a magazine spread, the corporate client who asked her to make their CEO look "more approachable but still intimidating."

They discovered they both loved old movies, though David preferred Hitchcock while Sarah was partial to film noir. 

They both read voraciously, though David stuck mostly to classics while Sarah devoured contemporary fiction. They both had complicated relationships with their families—David's parents wanted him to be more ambitious, Sarah's wanted her to be more practical.

"They keep asking when I'm going to get a 'real job,'" Sarah said, accepting the bag of trail mix David offered her. "As if capturing moments that matter isn't real work."

"I get the ambition question a lot. 'When are you going to become a principal? When are you going to get your doctorate? When are you going to do something important?'" He shook his head. "As if teaching kids to think critically and express themselves isn't important."

"It's incredibly important," Sarah said, and meant it. "Some of my best teachers were the ones who saw something in me that I didn't see in myself."

"What did they see?"

Sarah considered the question. "Possibility, I think. That I could be more than what I appeared to be."

David smiled. "That's what I try to give my students. Not just knowledge, but permission to become whoever they're meant to be."

The train slowed as they approached a small station, and Sarah watched a young couple saying goodbye on the platform. The woman was crying, and the man kept touching her face, as if trying to memorize it.

"I should take that picture," she said, reaching for her camera.

"But you won't," David observed.

"No. Some moments are too private, even when they're happening in public."

"You have good instincts."

Sarah turned away from the window to find David watching her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "What?"

"Nothing. Just... you're not what I expected when I got on this train."

"What did you expect?"

"Honestly? Thirty-six hours of boredom, maybe some sleep, definitely some grading." He gestured to a stack of papers in his bag. "I didn't expect to meet someone who..."

"Who what?"

David was quiet for a moment, and Sarah felt the air between them shift, becoming charged with something unspoken.

"Someone who makes me remember why I used to love long conversations," he said finally.

The train lurched back into motion, and Sarah felt her heart do the same. This was dangerous territory—she was in a relationship, albeit one she was planning to end, and David was a stranger, albeit one who felt less strange with every passing hour.

"David," she said softly.

"I know," he replied, understanding her unspoken concern. "I know this is complicated."

They sat in silence for a while, watching the sun begin to set over the prairie. The train car had grown quieter as evening approached, and Sarah was acutely aware of David's presence beside her—the way he breathed, the way he occasionally shifted in his seat, the way he smelled like clean laundry and something warmer, more personal.

"Are you hungry?" he asked eventually. "I think the dining car is still open."

Sarah realized she was starving. "I'd love to get some dinner."

As they made their way through the swaying cars toward the dining car, David placed his hand on the small of her back to steady her when the train took a curve. The touch was brief, practical, but Sarah felt it like an electric current running through her entire body.

This was definitely dangerous territory.

Chapter 4: Dinner and Discoveries

The dining car was nearly empty except for an elderly couple sharing a bottle of wine and a businessman typing furiously on his laptop while eating a sandwich. David and Sarah found a table by the window, and as the server brought them menus, Sarah realized this felt remarkably like a date.

A date with someone who wasn't her boyfriend.

A date with someone who made her laugh and asked thoughtful questions and looked at her like she was the most interesting person he'd encountered in a long time.

"So," David said, studying his menu, "what's the story with the boyfriend you're going to break up with?"

Sarah nearly choked on her water. "Direct, aren't you?"

"I figure we've got limited time, and I'm curious about you." He set down his menu and looked at her seriously. "But if it's too personal..."

"No, it's okay. It's just..." She paused, trying to find the right words. "Marcus is a good guy. Really good. He's reliable and supportive and he loves me."

"But?"

"But I don't think I'm in love with him anymore. Maybe I never was, not really. We fell into this relationship because it made sense—we were both ready to settle down, we had similar goals, we got along well." She twisted her napkin in her hands. "But lately, I feel like I'm suffocating. Like I'm playing a role instead of being myself."

David nodded slowly. "I understand that feeling."

"Is that what happened with your marriage?"

"Similar. We were great on paper—two educated professionals, shared values, mutual respect. But we never really... sparked. We cared about each other, but we didn't crave each other's company." He paused as the server returned to take their orders. "I think we both realized we were settling for comfortable instead of holding out for extraordinary."

"And now?"

"Now I'm trying to figure out what extraordinary looks like for me."

Their food arrived—simple train fare, but somehow it tasted better than any meal Sarah had eaten in months. Maybe it was the setting, or maybe it was the company, but she found herself savoring each bite, each moment.

"Can I ask you something?" David said as they shared a piece of chocolate cake for dessert.

"Sure."

"When you take pictures, what are you looking for? What makes you decide to capture one moment instead of another?"

Sarah considered the question. "Connection, I think. Those moments when people let their guard down, when they're fully present in their own lives. When they're not performing or posing, just... being."

"And do you ever feel like you're performing in your own life?"

The question hit her like a physical blow. "God, yes. All the time. With Marcus, with my family, even with myself sometimes. I feel like I'm always trying to be the person I think I should be instead of just being who I am."

"And who are you?"

Sarah looked at him across the small table, this man who asked questions that cut straight to the heart of things, who listened to her answers like they mattered.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I'm still figuring that out."

"What do you know?"

"I know I want to feel something real. I want to wake up excited about my day, not just going through the motions. I want to have conversations that matter. I want to take risks." She met his eyes. "What about you? What do you want?"

David was quiet for a long moment, and Sarah watched emotions play across his face—longing, uncertainty, something that looked like hope.

"I want to feel alive again," he said finally. "I want to meet someone who challenges me, who sees the world differently than I do but still understands me. I want..." He paused, then continued more quietly. "I want to feel that flutter of anticipation when I know I'm going to see someone. I want to lose track of time in conversation. I want to feel like myself, but a better version of myself."

Sarah felt that flutter he'd mentioned, felt it low in her stomach and spreading outward. "David..."

"I know," he said again, reaching across the table to touch her hand briefly. "I know this is complicated. But I can't pretend I'm not feeling something here."

Sarah looked down at their hands—his fingers were long and elegant, with calluses that suggested he played guitar or did woodworking. Artist's hands. When he pulled away, she felt the loss of contact like a physical ache.

"I'm feeling it too," she admitted.

They walked back to their seats in silence, both lost in thought. The train car was dimmer now, with only a few reading lights casting small pools of warm light. Most of the other passengers seemed to be settling in for the night.

"I should probably try to get some sleep," Sarah said as they reached their seats, though she felt anything but tired.

"Probably," David agreed, but he made no move to return to his own seat.

They stood there for a moment, facing each other in the narrow aisle, and Sarah felt the weight of possibility hanging between them. One step forward and she could touch him. One word and this could become something more than just a conversation with a stranger.

Instead, she stepped back.

"Goodnight, David."

"Goodnight, Sarah."

But as she settled into her seat and pulled her sweater around her shoulders, Sarah knew sleep was going to be elusive. Her mind was racing, her body was humming with awareness, and every few minutes she found herself stealing glances at David, who seemed to be having his own struggle with rest.

Chapter 5: The Long Night

Sarah dozed fitfully, waking periodically to the sound of the train's wheels on the tracks, to the gentle sway of the car, to the acute awareness of David's presence so close to her. Around 2 AM, she gave up on sleep entirely and quietly made her way to the observation car.

The lounge was empty except for one other passenger—a woman about her age reading a book under one of the small table lamps. Sarah found a seat by the large windows and watched the landscape roll by in the darkness, illuminated occasionally by the lights of small towns or the glow of a distant highway.

She was trying to sort through the tangle of emotions in her chest when she heard footsteps and turned to see David approaching.

"Couldn't sleep either?" he asked softly.

"Too much to think about."

He sat down across from her, and for a while they just watched the darkness together. There was something intimate about being awake while the rest of the world slept, about sharing this quiet space in the middle of the night.

"I keep thinking about what you said at dinner," Sarah said eventually. "About wanting to feel alive again."

"And?"

"I realized I can't remember the last time I felt truly alive. Not just happy or content, but... electric. Like every nerve ending was awake."

David leaned forward slightly. "How do you feel right now?"

Sarah met his eyes and felt that electricity he'd mentioned, felt it dancing along her skin and pooling in her stomach. 

"Alive," she whispered.

"Sarah..."

"I know. I know this is crazy. I know I barely know you, and I'm with someone else, and you live in Minneapolis and I live in Chicago, and this is probably the worst possible timing for both of us." The words tumbled out of her in a rush. "But I can't stop thinking about what it would feel like to kiss you."

David's breath caught. "I've been thinking the same thing."

They stared at each other across the small table, and Sarah felt the moment balanced on a knife's edge. She could get up, go back to her seat, pretend this conversation never happened. She could be sensible and practical and do the right thing.

Or she could lean forward and close the distance between them.

"Sarah," David said, his voice rough. "If we do this, if we cross this line..."

"I know."

"It changes everything."

"I know."

David stood up and moved around the table, and Sarah's heart hammered against her ribs as he sat down beside her. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough that she could smell his skin.

"I don't want to be someone you regret," he said softly.

Sarah turned to face him fully, and the intensity in his green eyes made her breath catch. "I don't want to regret not taking this chance."

David reached up and touched her face, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. "You're sure?"

Instead of answering, Sarah leaned into his touch, then closed the remaining distance between them.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, a question more than a statement. But when Sarah responded, when she brought her hand up to tangle in his hair, David deepened it, pulling her closer until she was pressed against his chest.

He tasted like coffee and chocolate and something that was entirely him, and Sarah felt like she was drowning in the best possible way. When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, she rested her forehead against his.

"Oh," she whispered.

"Yeah," he agreed, his voice rough. "Oh."

They sat there for a moment, foreheads touching, sharing breath and trying to process what had just happened between them.

"I should go back to my seat," Sarah said, though every fiber of her being was screaming at her to stay.

"You should," David agreed, but his arm tightened around her.

"We should probably pretend this didn't happen."

"Probably."

Neither of them moved.

"David?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to pretend this didn't happen."

He pulled back to look at her, and Sarah saw her own wonder and confusion reflected in his expression.

"Neither do I," he said. "But I also don't want to make this harder for you than it already is."

Sarah knew he was right. She was still technically with Marcus, still had to have that conversation when she reached Seattle. But sitting here with David, feeling more connected to him than she had to anyone in years, she also knew that regardless of what happened next, this moment was real and important and worth the complications it might bring.

"Can we just... take this as it comes?" she asked. "Not worry about tomorrow or next week or what this means? Just be here, right now, with each other?"

David studied her face in the dim light of the observation car. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"I'm sure I want to spend whatever time we have left together," she said. "However that looks."

David smiled then, the first completely unguarded smile she'd seen from him, and Sarah felt her heart do something acrobatic in her chest.

"Okay," he said. "Let's see what happens."

Chapter 6: Morning Light

Sarah woke to sunlight streaming through the train windows and the realization that she was curled up against David's side, his arm around her shoulders. They'd returned to their seats around 4 AM and had apparently fallen asleep sitting up, her head on his shoulder.

She should have felt awkward or regretful, but instead she felt... peaceful. Right. Like this was exactly where she was supposed to be.

David stirred as she shifted, and when he opened his eyes and saw her, his smile was soft and sleepy and utterly charming.

"Good morning," he murmured.

"Good morning." Sarah stretched, working out the kinks from sleeping upright. "How long until we reach your stop?"

David checked his watch. "About six hours. We should be pulling into Denver soon."

Six hours. Sarah felt a pang of something that might have been panic. After thirty years of playing it safe, of making practical choices, she'd found someone who made her feel alive, and she had six hours left with him.

"Hey," David said, seeming to read her thoughts. "We still have today."

"What do you want to do with today?"

David grinned. "Everything."

They had breakfast in the dining car, talking about their dreams and fears and the books that had changed their lives. 

David told her about the novel he'd been working on for five years, a story about a man who inherits his grandmother's house and discovers a collection of love letters that reveal family secrets. Sarah shared her secret ambition to publish a coffee table book of her street photography, something that captured the soul of Chicago through the eyes of its people.

"Why is it secret?" David asked.

"Because it feels too big, too presumptuous. Who am I to think I can capture the soul of a city?"

"You're someone who sees beauty in ordinary moments. You're someone who understands that private moments in public spaces are where real life happens." David reached across the table and took her hand. "You're exactly the right person to do this."

Sarah felt tears prick her eyes. When had anyone believed in her dreams this completely?

After breakfast, they found a spot in the observation car and spent the morning talking and watching the landscape change from prairie to mountains. David read her excerpts from the Austen novel he was carrying, and Sarah showed him more of her photography, including some personal work she'd never shared with anyone.

"This one," David said, stopping at a photo of an elderly woman feeding pigeons in Grant Park, "tells a whole story. Look at her expression—she's not just feeding birds, she's having a conversation with them."

"That's exactly what was happening. I watched her for twenty minutes. She was telling them about her late husband, about how he used to bring her to that same bench every Sunday for forty years."

"And you captured that. The love, the loss, the continuity. That's not just photography, Sarah. That's art."

Sarah felt something shift inside her chest, a loosening of the fear and doubt she'd carried for so long. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For seeing me. Really seeing me."

David squeezed her hand. "Thank you for letting me."

Chapter 7: The Afternoon

As the train climbed into the Rocky Mountains, Sarah found herself pressed against David's side, ostensibly to get a better view out the window, but really because she couldn't seem to stop finding excuses to touch him. Every brush of his fingers against hers, every moment when their knees bumped together, sent electricity through her entire body.

"This is torture," she said as they stood in the aisle, watching the spectacular mountain scenery roll by.

"What is?"

"Being this close to you and not being able to..." She gestured helplessly.

David turned to face her, and Sarah saw her own frustration reflected in his expression. "I know. I keep wanting to kiss you again."

"Why don't you?"

"Because we're in public, and because if I start kissing you, I'm not sure I'll be able to stop."

Sarah felt heat pool low in her belly. "And that would be a problem because...?"

"Because I'm trying to be a gentleman."

"What if I don't want you to be a gentleman?"

David's eyes darkened. "Sarah..."

"I mean it. What if I want you to be the man who makes me feel alive? What if I want to feel everything, just once, without worrying about the consequences?"

David was quiet for a long moment, and Sarah could see him wrestling with himself. Finally, he leaned down and spoke quietly in her ear.

"If that's what you want, then when we get to Denver, come with me."

"What?"

"Get off the train with me. We'll have three hours before the next train to Spokane. There's a hotel across from the station."

Sarah's heart hammered against her ribs. "David, I can't. I have to get to Seattle, I have that meeting..."

"I know. And I would never ask you to give up something important for me. But three hours, Sarah. Three hours where we don't have to think about tomorrow or next week or what this means. Three hours where we can just be together."

Sarah stared at him, feeling like she was balanced on the edge of a cliff. This was crazy. This was the kind of impulsive, reckless thing she never did. She was the practical one, the planner, the one who thought through all the consequences before making a decision.

But looking at David, feeling the pull between them, she realized that maybe it was time to stop being so practical. 

Maybe it was time to take a risk.

"Okay," she whispered.

"Okay?"

"Yes. Three hours."

David's smile was brilliant. "Are you sure?"

"I'm terrified," Sarah admitted. "But yes, I'm sure."

David leaned down and kissed her forehead, a gesture so tender it made her heart ache. "I'll take care of you," he said. "I promise."

Sarah believed him.

Chapter 8: Denver

The hotel was small and clean, with a view of the mountains and a bed that dominated the modest room. Sarah stood by the window, suddenly nervous, while David set their bags down and turned to look at her.

"We don't have to do anything," he said gently. "We can just talk. Or watch a movie. Or take a nap."

Sarah turned to face him, this man who had appeared in her life less than twenty-four hours ago and changed everything. "Is that what you want? To just talk?"

"I want whatever you want. But Sarah, I need you to know—this isn't just physical for me. I know we haven't known each other long, but what I feel for you..."

"What do you feel for me?"

David crossed the room until he was standing in front of her, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.

"I feel like I've been waiting for you my whole life," he said simply. "Like every conversation I've ever had was just practice for talking to you. Like every book I've ever read was just preparing me to understand you."

Sarah's breath caught. "David..."

"I'm not asking you to leave your life for me. I'm not asking you to promise me anything. I'm just asking for these three hours, to show you how I feel about you."

Sarah reached up and touched his face, running her thumb along his jaw. "Show me," she whispered.

David's kiss was different this time—deeper, more certain, full of promise and desire. Sarah melted into him, her hands fisting in his shirt as he backed her toward the bed.

"Are you sure?" he murmured against her lips.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

What followed was tender and passionate and unlike anything Sarah had ever experienced. David touched her like she was precious, like she was art, like she was everything he'd ever wanted. He took his time, learning her body with the same careful attention he'd given to her words on the train, and Sarah felt herself coming alive under his hands.

Afterward, they lay tangled together, Sarah's head on David's chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.

"I have to tell you something," she said softly.

"What?"

"I've never felt like this before. Never. Not with Marcus, not with anyone."

David's arms tightened around her. "Like what?"

"Like I'm exactly where I belong. Like I'm finally myself."

David was quiet for a moment, then pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I love you," he said simply.

Sarah lifted her head to look at him. "You can't possibly love me. We've known each other for a day."

"I know it's crazy. I know it doesn't make sense. But I do, Sarah. I love your laugh and your passion for your work and the way you see beauty in ordinary moments. I love how you think and how you question everything and how you made me remember what it feels like to connect with someone."

Sarah felt tears prick her eyes. "I love you too," she whispered. "And that terrifies me."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know what to do with this. I don't know how to make this work."

David cupped her face in his hands. "We don't have to figure it all out right now. We just have to figure out the next 

step."

"What's the next step?"

"You go to Seattle. You have your meeting. You have your conversation with Marcus."

"And then?"

"And then you decide what you want your life to look like."

Sarah knew he was right, but the thought of getting back on that train without him, of continuing to Seattle alone, made her chest ache.

"I don't want to leave you," she said.

"I don't want you to leave either. But I also don't want to be the reason you don't follow through on something important."

Sarah kissed him then, trying to pour all of her feeling into the kiss, trying to memorize the taste of him and the feel of his hands in her hair.

"What if this is it?" she asked when they broke apart. "What if this is the only time we get?"

"Then we'll have had this," David said. "And it will have been worth it."

Epilogue: Six Months Later

Sarah stood in the gallery in Seattle, watching people move through the space examining her photographs. "Moments of Connection: A Chicago Story" had been up for two weeks, and the response had been better than she'd dared to hope.

"The artist's eye for intimacy in public spaces is remarkable," she heard a woman say to her companion as they studied the photo of the elderly woman feeding pigeons. "You can see the story in her face."

Sarah smiled, remembering David's words about that same photograph. She'd thought about him every day for the past six months, had picked up her phone to call him more times than she could count. But she'd also needed this time—to end things properly with Marcus, to focus on her work, to figure out who she was when she wasn't trying to be someone else.

"Sarah?"

She turned at the sound of her name and felt her heart stop. David stood in the doorway of the gallery, looking exactly as she remembered him—those green eyes, that careful way of moving, the slight smile that had made her fall in love with him on a train.

"David? What are you doing here?"

He approached slowly, as if he wasn't sure of his welcome. "I saw the review of your show in the Times. I had to come see it."

"You came all the way from Minneapolis?"

"Actually, I came from Portland. I moved there last month—my sister convinced me to take a job at a private school there. Better pay, smaller classes, and..." He paused, looking uncertain. "And it's closer to Seattle."

Sarah's heart hammered against her ribs. "David..."

"I know I should have called. I know it's been six months and you might have moved on, might have decided that what happened between us was just a moment of temporary insanity." He gestured to the photographs surrounding them. 

"But seeing your work, seeing how you've followed your dreams... I had to tell you I'm proud of you. And I had to tell you that I never stopped thinking about you."

Sarah felt tears prick her eyes. "I never stopped thinking about you either."

"But?"

"But I needed this time. I needed to figure out who I was without Marcus, without the life I thought I was supposed to have. I needed to know that if I came to you, it would be because I chose you, not because I was running from something else."

David nodded. "And now?"

Sarah looked around the gallery, at the photographs that represented everything she'd worked for, everything she'd discovered about herself. Then she looked back at David, at the man who had seen her truly from the very beginning.

"Now I know who I am," she said. "And I know what I want."

"What do you want?"

Sarah stepped closer to him, close enough to see the hope and uncertainty warring in his expression.

"I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up in your arms. I want to have long conversations about books and dreams and whether we think the elderly woman in that photograph ever found love again. I want to take pictures of you reading in different cities, and I want you to read me excerpts from whatever novel you're working on."