22
“What do you mean, no?” Joe asked.
He stood beside the booth dressed in button-down Levi’s and a faded UCLA hoodie. It had to be the same one from six years ago, Sarah thought, since it was tighter across the chest and shoulders now, and the cuffs looked tattered. Which meant that there was the pocket where he first warmed her hands. There was where he first touched any part of her.
She tried to cover her reaction with sarcasm. “Come on, Burke, you’re not that sentimental.”
“You don’t know that,” he said, handing her one of the glasses of wine and sliding across from her into the horseshoe-shaped booth. He lifted his own glass in a toast. “Happy Birthday, Sarah.”
She studied his face, searching for some hint of how he expected her to answer. He had to know that showing up there lik
