Traffic moved.
Autumn.
Again.
Clare slipped hand into his.
"Do you know what I think?"
"Dangerous."
"I think if my car hadn't broken, we still would have found each other."
Dean considered.
"Maybe."
"You don't believe me."
"I believe we like stories where destiny is patient."
"And?"
"Sometimes life isn't."
Clare looked at him.
Dean continued.
"Maybe that was our chance."
"And we took it."
"Eventually."
She smiled.
"Tomorrow."
He nodded.
Their old rule.
Not forever.
Tomorrow.
One day after another.
Clare leaned against him.
"Do you regret the nine years?"
Dean thought for a long time.
"No."
She seemed surprised.
"I regret hurting."
"I regret not knowing."
"But I don't regret Evan."
"Anna."
"The man I became."
"I don't want to erase any of that to get to you sooner."
Clare nodded.
"Me either."
"London."
"My work."
"Even Thomas."
Dean frowned.
"No."
She laughed.
"He taught me things."
"I hate Thomas."
"You never met him."
"Exactly."
She kissed his cheek.
Dean looked toward road.
"I do regret one thing."
"What?"
"Not charging you more for the repair."
Clare laughed.
"You flirted while covered in mud."
"You liked it."
"I still do."
Dean looked at her.
That old attraction had changed.
Less urgent.
Deeper.
Clare touched his face.
"Nine years, and somehow you were still the only man who made me forget what I planned to say."
Dean smiled.
"I remember."
"And you told me to stop pretending."
"Yes."
She looked toward road.
"I think that's what changed everything."
"What?"
"Not seeing you."
"Not the car."
"Not the phone call."
"You made me stop pretending."
Dean squeezed her hand.
"You did the same."
They stood there until cold settled into their bones.
Then returned to the car.
Not luxury sedan.
Dean's old pickup had finally died ten years earlier.
They now drove a practical SUV Clare claimed to hate and secretly loved.
Before getting in, Clare stopped.
"Dean."
"Yeah?"
"If I called four years before we met again and you'd answered..."
He looked at her.
"What?"
"Would you have told me not to call?"
Dean thought carefully.
"Probably."
She nodded.
"I think so too."
"Would that have destroyed you?"
"For a while."
"But maybe I needed those years."
Dean smiled.
"There you go."
She opened door.
"Still hate timing."
"Timing got us here."
"Eventually."
They drove away.
The shoulder disappeared behind them.
No grand sign.
No evidence they had once knelt beside a broken car there.
No marker for the moment one life touched another again.
That was fine.
Not every important place needed a plaque.
Some lived in people.
That evening they had dinner with Evan, his wife, and their daughter.
Dean's granddaughter was six.
She climbed onto his lap and asked how he met Grandma Clare.
Everyone at the table groaned.
They had heard the story too many times.
The little girl had not.
Dean smiled.
"Her car broke."
Clare interrupted.
"Your grandfather was very dirty."