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Summary
“Oh, yes, Sarah. You’ve wanted me for such a long time, haven’t you? The lack of man, of children. The fairytale art and books that make up your life instead. You still play pretend for a job. You’ve never been able to let it go. Not fully.”
She pulls back and he lets her, arms loosening, uncoiling. She still clutches to his shoulders, though her mind and heart race. “It’s not only you,” she says. “I… it hasn’t been thirty-three years of pining. Give me some credit.”
He reaches up and brushes some of her hair away. “No,” he agrees. “But it’s been enough. There’s a mark left here-” he lays the flat of his hand over her heart, “-which is there to stay.”
.
Thirty-three years of nothing, and there he is one Halloween night, exactly as she remembers, crooked smile, dark eyes and deep, seeing gaze.