He took a deep breath and decided to make an effort. After all, they were working together on a project. “At least you shared a love for basketball.”

She shook her head. “Not really.” Then she leaned forward and whispered, “I put my panties in his locker with my number written on them, but he never called.”

“Oh.” Benjamin would have said more, but he was choking on his ham sandwich.

To his horror, she stood and started beating him on the back. This time her touch was definitely not a sign of affection.

When he turned to tell her to stop, his face bumped into her rather large left breast. His only escape was to go back to coughing. She ran for water, and he tried to calm down.

Maybe she hadn’t noticed their intimate contact.

But he had noticed. Soft, yet nicely firm and at least twice the size he remembered it being. Yes, he remembered . . .

Without warning, the past he’d pushed to the back of his mind came back, avalanching down every nerve, every sense.

He remembered her. The memory he’d tried to forget about a girl people called “Red” almost twenty years ago. They’d met in January and traveled with a group of mutual friends the week before spring semester started. Most were first-year grad students looking to relax and have fun before they started back into endless circles of study, research, and lectures.

One cold January week to relax before the work began.

He’d pushed it so far back in his mind that he seldom thought about those foolhardy days. There were more important goals, things he had to do, but for one moment in time, he’d let them slide.

When he’d met Virginia Clark this past September, he’d thought she looked familiar. Only she had a different last name than the girl she reminded him of. Different first name as well. Benjamin passed the feeling off by commenting that they might have met at the university years ago or maybe simply been in a class together. It made sense; they were both science majors.

She’d agreed.

Now, in the silent coffee shop, he knew it had been far more than a class they’d shared. He might have been a bit drunk, but he’d seen her, all of her. He’d held her closer than he’d ever held anyone.

When she returned from the coffee shop counter and handed him the water, he thanked her and turned away. Pushing away the memories, Ben stood and said he had to leave.

They parted with a “See you Monday” goodbye.

An hour later he was working on a tractor in his dad’s barn. Slowly, he let the memories drift back.