Page 129 of Wells

"Thank you for being here."

My voice comes out steady, which surprises me.

"The Sol House is a youth wellness center. It's free, open five days a week after school and on weekends. Kids from the neighborhood can come here to move, learn, create, and be outside with people who are going to keep showing up."

I pause. Someone near the front nods. A little girl pulls on her mother's sleeve and points at the swings.

"This wouldn't exist without the team who built it. Lin Tepple and his staff made this place real. Charlton Grant and his vision brought it to life. The contractors who restored the building did it fast and did it right. The people funding the programs believe in what we're doing here, and I'm grateful for that."

I shift my weight. The microphone is slick in my hand.

"The Sol House is for kids who need somewhere safe to land. That's it. That's what this is."

My eyes move across the crowd. And then I see her. Near the back of the crowd, her hair catches the light from the strings overhead. Her brown eyes lock on me.

Cera.

The words I was about to say disappear. My hand tightens on the microphone, and I lose my train of thought.

She's here.

Someone coughs near the front row. I force myself to pull air into my lungs.

"We're glad you're here. The doors open tomorrow at three. I hope this is a place of refuge for everyone in the neighborhood for generations to come."

I lower the microphone and hand it off to Lin, who takes it without comment.

The crowd claps. A few people move toward the tables set up with food. Kids break toward the swings.

I stay where I am. Half of me is still trying to finish the speech I started. The other half is trying not to look at her again and failing.

She's still there in the same spot, near the back, standing next to a couple with a stroller.

She's wearing a white sundress with thin straps, showing off her clavicle I love so much. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders. She's darker now, warmer, and the health that radiates from her is so visible it makes my chest ache.

Her eyes move from me to the building behind me, then back to me. I never thought she was coming back to New Orleans. I built the last months of this believing she was gone for good and would never set foot in it.

A little boy bumps into her leg, and she steadies him without looking away from me.

Someone taps my shoulder. I turn to see Bob West, from the Krewe of Argentum, offering congratulations. I thank him. I shake his hand. I answer his question about the gym equipment.

The whole time, I'm aware of where she is.

Still near the back. Still watching.

The crowd shifts, and I lose her for a moment. My heart rate kicks up even faster. I search the yard quickly, trying not to be too obvious.

Then I see her again.

She's walking toward the building now, moving slowly, her hand trailing along the restored railing of the porch steps.

I should go to her and speak. We both know the other is here, so it would be awkward otherwise.

I step off the grass and start moving through the crowd.

She crosses the grass and stops in front of me, her hand reaching out to pat my arm. The touch is brief, warm, familiar in a way that makes my chest tighten.

Then she shoves me, grinning.