a nonalcoholic drink, not because Leah was standing there, sipping from a plastic cup.
He opened his mouth to say hello. To start with the reason he was here—to offer an apology for being a jerk to her ten years ago. Instead he said, “You look beautiful.”
Surprise flushed Leah’s face. “Thank you, Alec. You look very nice, too.”
“It’s been a long time,” he said, reaching for a cup of punch he didn’t want.
“Ten years. Sometimes it seems like yesterday.”
“And sometimes it seems like a century ago.” He sipped at the punch—a tropical blend that slid smoothly down his throat. He hated the awkward bumpiness of small talk. But he couldn’t seem to find a way to bring the conversation around to the past. “Are you living in California still?”
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