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I was standing outside May’s Diner on Christmas morning, watching snow slide from the edge of the roof and melt into the pavement below.
The place looked exactly the same. The red vinyl booths were still visible through the front window, the bell still hung crooked above the door, and the faint smell of coffee and grease reminded me of my childhood.
Ted was already there when I walked in. He was sitting in the corner booth, coat draped neatly beside him.
His hands were wrapped around a mug like he’d been warming them for a while.
His hair had gone silver at the temples, and there were deeper lines around his eyes, but the smile he gave me was familiar enough to pull me straight back to who we used to be.
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