The first order of business, of course, is to find a place to eat dinner, like Celeste requested. As it turns out, there are a lot of great food options in Sausalito, but one in particular catches my attention. Just a few minutes away from the yacht harbor is a fancy pizza place with beautiful nighttime views and a cozy-looking outdoor firepit. The vibes seem immaculate.

The barista calls out my order, and I get my drink before settling back into my seat. I save the restaurant on my phone and move on to my work. Sipping on my mocha, I get done as much as I can, answering emails, drafting a few write-ups, and going through recent submissions to Dear Karl.

When the sun begins to set, coloring the sky a vivid orange and red, I head back to the harbor.

Celeste is alone when I reach her, and as I quietly watch, she snaps a few photos of the horizon with her camera. I stop a few paces away and get out my phone to take a picture of her, since she looks especially beautiful in the bright colors of the early evening.

“Hey,” Celeste says when she catches sight of me.

“Hey, how’d the shoot go?”

“Not bad.” She snaps a few quick more shots, this time of the boats. “The models were great, and the wind was cooperative for once, so everything went smoothly. How about you?”

“I finished the work I couldn’t do back at the office.”

“Amazing!” Celeste says with a smile. “I’m glad to hear it. Did you have a chance to find where you want to eat?”

“Yup. There’s a great pizza place nearby.”

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

By the time we arrive at the unassuming bungalow front of the restaurant, the sun has completely set. The host leads us to the back, and I’m awed by the cozy atmosphere created by the golden yellow string lights hanging above our heads. The patio overlooks a smaller harbor with boats that look adorable and quaint compared to the behemoths Celeste was shooting earlier today. And beyond that is the other side of the bay, lit by bright specks of light from the houses lining the distant hills.

The circular firepit is already occupied by a large, happy family, so Celeste and I sit at one of the tables by the water.

When our waiter arrives, we choose a bottle of wine for the table. After a cursory glance at the menu, Celeste asks me, “Do you want to get the mushroom pizza? Is that still your favorite topping?”

“Yes, it is,” I say, blushing. It’s amazing how she remembers so many little details about me even after all these years. “But we can get something else, if you want.”

“Nah, I like mushrooms, too.”

After the waiter comes back and leaves with our order, she stares at me so intensely that I let out a nervous laugh.