She loved waiting for his letters to arrive; sometimes it was just a postcard, a corner wrinkled, but all of them she kept in the drawer that locked. Not because there were any great secrets to be stowed away, or that she didn't want any one else's eyes on them; she just enjoyed taking out the old brass key to unlock and lock the drawer--the little clicks and turns were the most satisfying sounds in the world to her.
He wrote to her about sunsets spent with mosquitoes, half-meals stolen from distracted men out with their mistresses, and how much he missed her... So much of her life she spent waiting for him, and he missing her, that when they finally met again, they felt like complete strangers falling in love.
[Taken outside a Marriott in North Carolina.]
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