Page 101 of The Sun and Her Star

The frustration and hurt in her voice reaches me loud and clear. It’s like a kick to my gut to know that I’ve made her feel this way. I’ve been teasing her, and she’s genuinely upset.

“Hey. Listen. I’m sorry. I’m not here to hurt you. I know that may be hard to believe after everything that’s happened.”

She doesn’t say anything, and I hold my breath. Maybe I came on too strong.

“Deep down, Graham ... Idobelieve it. Because I know who you used to be. But I don’t know you anymore.”

“I’m the same person,” I tell her. Not being able to see her right now is frustrating.

“I don’t know that.”

“You do.”

“How? We’ve lived completely separate lives for the last five years. How can I be sure that this isn’t just nostalgia and boredom? What if you miss the fast life in LA? What happens then? My heart breaks all over?” She sounds frantic and I can imagine her running her hand through her hair repeatedly as she paces.

I’ve got my work cut out for me. But, I don’t want to overwhelm her.

She still loves me.

I have a chance.

“Apollo, I don’t want to make you promises. Those are too easy to break. I want my deeds to be my monuments.”

I hear her sharp intake of breath and a whispered, “You remember?”

“There’s not one second I’ve spent with you that I didn’t commit to memory.”

“Oh, God, Graham …” She sounds torn.

I feel hopeful. And decide to quit while I’m ahead.

“Let’s have this conversation face-to-face. We’re both tired. I’ll meet you later and we’ll have lunch. I don’t want to force you to do anything. I just hope that I can convince you to choose me. I want to get to know you again. And I want you to get to know me, too. Not the man you’ve been reading about online. Butme.”My voice is gentle.

I can hear her brain working while I wait for her to respond.

“Okay. But let’s just hang out. No flirting. No touching. Let’s just talk,” she says in a warning tone.

“Well, God knows that’s your specialty. I have yet to meet a more talented talker.”

“I donottalk a lot,” she grumbles.

“Sunshine,” I call softly.

“Yeah?” she yawns.

“I’ve missed your voice,” I confess.

“Same goes.” She whispers those words right before she hangs up. But they resound in my head like the crack of the race keeper’s gun signaling that it’s time to start the race of my life.

* * *

Only in New York City would a museum’s entrance be a plain glass shop front window. On the outside, it’s indistinguishable from the thrift store next door. But when I step into The Sun and The Star, I chide myself for breaking one of my very own cardinal rules—never judge a book by its cover. I stepped in to a gleaming, Ivory marble tiled lobby and stare at the gigantic winding staircase made of chrome and glass. The steps were covered in a rainbow swirled carpet that made it look almost homey.

I was a little early and don’t see Apollo in the lobby, so I wander into the gift store and nose around. When I’d looked it up on my way here, I read that it’s focused on art from the Himalayan region and India. I’ve always wanted to travel there. I wonder if Apollo’s been. I wonder what I’ve missed while I was busy avoiding my life.

I’m toying with a black tea, when I feel a finger tap my shoulder.

I turn around and look down into Apollo’s lovely, smiling face.

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