"Yes."
"How many?"
"That's a stupid question."
"Probably."
Dean slid out.
Mud covered half his shirt.
Clare looked at him and smiled.
"What?"
"You look exactly like you did the first summer we met."
"I did not spend that summer under cars."
"You spent half of it fixing that terrible motorcycle."
"It was a good motorcycle."
"It caught fire."
"Once."
"On our first trip."
"We survived."
"Your argument for quality is that it only caught fire once?"
Dean laughed.
They both stopped afterward.
The laugh had belonged to another time.
A tiny apartment.
Cheap Thai food.
Clare sitting on his kitchen counter with bare feet.
Dean repairing a carburetor on newspaper spread across the floor.
That memory arrived so vividly it hurt.
Clare's face changed too.
She remembered.
Dean sat up fully.
She remained crouched beside him.
Her hand returned to his arm.
This time neither pretended it was practical.
"Nine years," she whispered, "and somehow you're still the only man who makes me forget what I planned to say."
Dean looked at her.
He should have moved.
He did not.
"Careful. You're making it sound like you never stopped missing me."
Her thumb moved slightly across the fabric of his sleeve.
"Maybe I didn't."
She swallowed.
"Maybe I just got very good at pretending."
The honesty landed harder than accusation would have.
Dean searched her face.
"Then stop pretending, Clare."
Her breath caught.
He continued quietly.
"Because I never learned how."
For several seconds neither moved.
Clare's mouth parted.
Dean thought she might kiss him.
Worse, he realized he would let her.
Then a small voice came from the truck.
"Dad?"
Dean moved back so fast his shoulder struck the car.
Clare blinked.
Evan stood barefoot beside the pickup, blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
His brown hair stuck up on one side.
Dean stood.
"Hey, buddy."
Evan looked at Clare.
Then at Dean's muddy clothes.
Then at the luxury sedan.
"Did you break her car?"
Clare laughed.
Dean sighed.
"No."
"You break stuff when you fix it sometimes."
"Thank you for the endorsement."
Evan walked closer.
Clare stood.
Her expression changed as she watched him approach.
Dean saw tenderness first.
Then something harder to name.
Recognition of a fact she had not been part of.
A whole life.
Evan looked up at her.
"Hi."
Clare smiled.
"Hi."
"This your car?"
"Unfortunately."
"Looks expensive."
Dean closed his eyes.
Clare laughed.
"It was."
Evan looked at Dean.
"Can you fix it?"
"Probably."
"Then why are we still here?"
Dean stared at his son.
Clare covered her mouth.
Evan looked between them.
"Do you know her?"
Dean said, "Yes."
Clare said, "We used to."
They spoke at the same time.
Evan frowned.
"Which one?"
Dean rubbed his forehead.
"We knew each other a long time ago."
Clare looked at him.
"Very well."
Dean gave her a warning look.
Evan noticed.
Children noticed everything.
He asked, "Were you his girlfriend?"
Clare smiled slowly.
Dean said, "Get your shoes on."
"That means yes."
"Truck."
Evan turned.
Then looked back at Clare.
"My mom died."
Dean froze.
Clare's face softened.
Evan continued matter-of-factly.
"Three years ago."
Dean walked toward him.
"Evan."
"What?"
"We don't introduce people that way."
"She asked."