The man let out a breath he’d been holding far too long and knelt in front of her. “Happy early birthday, Lily.”
She startled. “How did you know my name?”
He smiled softly. “I didn’t. But it suits you.”
He placed the box in her arms with a tenderness that nearly made my knees give out.
“Thank you,” she whispered, clutching it like something holy.
For a moment the three of us just stood there, suspended between sorrow and grace. Then he rose, gave me a small bow of his head, and began to walk away.
“Wait!” I called.
He paused but didn’t turn fully.
“You didn’t tell us your name.”
He hesitated, then said quietly, “James Whitlock.”
