I’d gone through the contents of the folder that I had received but none of the information had anything about what she did for work.

“I’m a writer,” she says, smiling. “I don’t know if you like to read or not, but I write romantic suspense novels.”

“Really?!” I ask, leaning closer to her. “I love to read. Romance and thrillers are my favorite.”

“Good.” She smiles. “Me, too.”

“But I never saw your name anywhere. Oh, I guess you don’t write under Josephine Jemisin though.”

“No, I actually write under a completely different name. Lauren Hart.”

My mouth drops open.

My ears start to buzz.

“No,” I say with disbelief. “No, you’re not her!”

Josephine laughs, tilting her head back.

“I love Lauren Hart! She’s one of my favorite writers. I read everything she writes.”

I don’t know why I keep talking about her as if she’s not her except that I am still having trouble processing this revelation.

It’s hard to put into words exactly how much I love Lauren Hart’s writing.

She writes in first person and you get this sense that you are going through whatever the character is going through. Plus, she captures details unlike anyone else I’ve ever read.

Our drinks arrive. I take a sip of mine.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, looking down at the table. “You’re just one of my favorite writers and I had no idea that you are…her and she is you.”

“It’s okay,” she says, putting her hand on mine. “It’s really sweet actually. I love hearing from my readers and I had no idea that my long lost daughter was one of them.”

She looks away for a moment and then back at me.

I can see that she’s trying to push away a tear. She bites her lower lip and picks up the drink that was just delivered.

“I want to make a toast,” she says. “I have been looking for you for a very long time, Olive. I’ve loved you ever since I found out that I was pregnant and I never stopped. Everyone told me that you were dead but I never stopped believing.”

Tears are flowing down her face freely now.

She doesn’t try to hide them or to stop them.

“I want to drink to you and to thank you for coming here and finding me,” she says. I start to sob along with her.

“Thank you,” I mumble through my tears, wiping off my cheeks. “Thank you for welcoming me and for accepting me.”

We clink our glasses.

The glass feels cool against my hot lips and the cocktail tastes like heaven.

“Wow, this is amazing,” I say, pulling it away from my mouth.

“I know, they make the best drinks here. And the food is to die for as well,” Josephine says. “What did you get?”

“The refrescado,” I say.