For a moment, we simply watched people hurry toward the station.
Then I held out my hand.
“I’m Sarah.”
The man looked surprised.
“Jeremy.”
“Nice to meet you.”
I remembered Larry’s final instruction.
I took a sip from the second coffee.
Black.
I made a face.
Jeremy glanced over.
“Bad?”
“No.”
I looked at Larry’s empty spot.
“Just not mine.”
I walked back to the kiosk.
The woman behind the counter saw me coming.
“Just not mine.”
“Another black?”
I shook my head.
“Actually, could I get some cream?”
When I sat down again, Larry’s letter and our marriage certificate rested beside me.
For once, I wasn’t rushing anywhere.
And the coffee in my hands finally tasted like mine.
