Finally she approached him. Standing close, she ran her hands over him—his chest, his shoulders, his arms, touching him gently, as if she wanted to remember the way he felt forever. Stepping back to allow him to undress, she watched him, her eyes taking everything in as his clothes fell to the floor. Moving to his side, she kissed his shoulders, then slowly worked around him, her mouth against his skin, the wetness of her lips lingering everywhere she touched. Then, leading him to the bed, she lay down, pulling him with her.

They made love fiercely, clinging desperately to each other. Their passion was unlike any time they’d made love before—each painfully conscious of the other’s pleasure, every touch more electric than the last. As if fearful of what the future would bring, they worshiped each other’s bodies with a singleminded intensity that would sear their memories forever. When they finally climaxed together, Theresa threw back her head and cried aloud, not attempting to stifle the sound.

Afterward she sat up in the bed, cradling Garrett’s head in her lap. She ran her hands through his hair, rhythmically, steadily, listening as the sound of his breathing gradually deepened.

Later that afternoon, Garrett woke up alone. Noticing that theresa’s clothes were gone as well, he grabbed his jeans and shirt. Still buttoning his shirt as he left his bedroom, he quickly searched the house for her.

The house was cold.

He found her in the kitchen. She was seated at the table, wearing her jacket. On the table in front of her, he saw a cup of coffee, nearly empty, as if she’d been sitting there for some time. The coffeepot was already in the sink. Checking the clock, he realized he’d been asleep for almost two hours.

“Hey there,” he said uncertainly.

Theresa glanced over her shoulder at him. Her voice was subdued.

“Oh, hey . . . I didn’t hear you get up.”

“You okay?”

She didn’t answer directly. “Come sit with me,” she said instead. “There’s a lot I’ve got to tell you.”

Garrett sat down at the table. He smiled tentatively at her. Theresa fidgeted with the coffee cup for a moment, her eyes downcast. He reached over, brushing a loose strand of hair away from the side of her face. When she didn’t respond, he pulled back.

Finally, without looking at him, she reached into her lap and removed the letters, laying them on the table. Apparently she’d gathered them up while he slept.

“I found the bottle when I was jogging last summer,” she began, her voice steady but distant, as if recalling something painful. “I didn’t have any idea what the letter inside would say, but after reading it, I started to cry. It was just so beautiful—I knew it had come straight from your heart, and the way it was written . . . I guess I related to the things you wrote because I felt so alone, too.”

She looked at him. “That morning, I showed it to Deanna. Publishing it was her idea. I didn’t want to at first . . . I thought it was too personal, but she didn’t see the harm in it. She thought it would be a nice thing for people to read. So I relented, and assumed that would be the end of it. But it wasn’t.”

She sighed. “After I got back to Boston, I got a call from someone who’d read the column. She sent me the second letter, one that she’d found a few years ago. After I read it, I was intrigued, but again, I didn’t think it would go any further.”

She paused. “Have you ever heard of Yankee magazine?”

“No.”

“It’s a regional magazine. It’s not well-known outside of New England, but it publishes some good stories. That’s where I found the third letter.”

Garrett looked at her in surprise. “It was published there?”

“Yes, it was. I tracked down the author of the article and he sent me the third letter, and . . . well, curiosity got the best of me. I had three letters, Garrett—not just one but three—and every one of them touched me the same way the first one had. So, with Deanna’s help, I found out who you were and I came down to meet you.”

She smiled sadly. “I know it sounds like you said—that it was some sort of fantasy—but it wasn’t. I didn’t come down here to fall in love with you. I didn’t come down here to write a column. I came down to see who you were, that was all. I wanted to meet the person who wrote those beautiful letters. So I went to the docks and there you were. We talked, and then, if you remember, you asked me to go sailing. If you hadn’t, I probably would have gone home that day.”

He didn’t know what to say. Theresa reached over and placed her hand carefully over his.

“But you know what? We had a good time that night, and I realized I wanted to see you again. Not because of the letters, but because of how you treated me. And everything just seemed to grow naturally from there. After that first meeting, nothing that happened between us was part of a plan. It just happened.”

He sat quietly for a moment, looking at the letters. “Why didn’t you tell me about them?” he asked.

She took her time answering. “There were times when I wanted to, but . . . I don’t know . . . I guess I convinced myself that it didn’t matter how we met. The only thing that mattered was how well we got along.” She paused, knowing there was more. “Besides, I didn’t think you’d understand. I didn’t want to lose you.”

“If you’d told me earlier, I would have understood.”

She watched him carefully as he answered. “Would you, Garrett? Would you really have understood?”

Garrett knew it to be a moment of truth. When he didn’t respond, Theresa shook her head and glanced away.

“Last night, when you asked me to move, I didn’t say yes right away because I was afraid of why you’d asked.” She hesitated. “I needed to be sure you wanted me , Garrett. I needed to be sure you asked me because of us , and not because you were running from something. I guess I wanted you to convince me when I got back from the store. But you found these instead. . . .”

She shrugged, speaking more softly now. “Deep down, I guess i knew it all along, but i wanted to believe that everything would work itself out.”

“What are you talking about?”

She didn’t answer directly. “Garrett—it isn’t that I don’t think you love me, because I know you do. That’s what makes this whole thing so hard. I know you love me, and I love you, too—and if the circumstances were different, perhaps we could get through all this. But right now, I don’t think we can. I don’t think you’re ready yet.”

Garrett felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. She looked directly at him, meeting his eyes.

“I’m not blind, Garrett. I knew why you would get so quiet sometimes when we weren’t together. I knew why you wanted me to move down here.”

“It was because I missed you,” he interjected.

“That was part of it . . . but not all of it,”Theresa said, pausing to blink back tears. Her voice began to crack. “It’s also because of Catherine.”

She dabbed at the corner of her eye, clearly fighting tears, determined not to break down.

“When you first told me about her, I saw the way you looked . . . it was obvious that you still loved her. And last night—despite your anger—I saw the same look again. Even after all the time we’ve spent together, you’re still not over her. And then . . . the things you said . . .” She took a deep, uneven breath. “You weren’t angry simply because I found the letters, you were angry because you felt I threatened what you and Catherine shared—and still do.”

Garrett looked away, hearing the echo of his father’s accusation. Again she reached over and touched his hand.

“you are who you are, Garrett. You’re a man who loves deeply, but you’re also a man who loves forever. No matter how much you love me, I don’t think it’s in you to ever forget her, and I can’t live my life wondering whether I measure up to her.”