The waitress clears the dishes and brings me a fresh cup. Jake and I met when he’d come to one of my performances with a group of friends. He was the only one dressed down, in jeans and a leather jacket. It’s what drew me to him. He didn’t give a shit about prestige or proper etiquette.

I’d come outside after the performance, the Chicago wind icy and sharp. He’d taken a drag off a cigarette and pushed away from the brick wall he’d been leaning against. I was instantly attracted to him—so much so, I didn’t even mind the cigarette.

Jake told me he’d missed the entire performance because I was distracting him. I’d bought right into it and asked why. He’d exhaled smoke into the air, and I found myself wanting to lick his Adam’s apple. I’d somehow pulled my eyes back toward his face and he’d said, “Because I realized I was staring at the woman I was going to marry. Which is a pretty important moment in a man’s life, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a man.” Though I was making a joke, I’d never had a man say anything remotely that serious the first time meeting me. We had an instantaneous connection—the kind that crackles through your entire body like a sparkler.

“Hungry?” His piercing eyes looked right through me, and I decided right there on that street that I was all in.

“Starved,” I’d replied.

We’d made love that very night, even though he was a virtual stranger. But Jake never felt like a stranger. Not on the first night I met him and not now, eleven years later without a word between us.

I once again banish the thoughts, finish breakfast, and pay. Outside, I check the time: too early.

I hesitate, then call a Lyft, and verbally enter the destination. I make small talk with the driver, and five minutes later, we’ve arrived. “Thank you,” I say. I pull on a sweater from my bag as the wind from the lake picks up. I steady my cane until it bumps into sand, then I fold it and almost run toward the water’s edge. Random voices and barking dogs fill the periphery, but I easily claim my old familiar spot on the sand.

At my feet, the water crashes and lands, churning against the shore. I sit, wrap my arms around my legs, and listen. Why has it been so long since I’ve been back? I realize I’ve been avoiding it because it reminds me of Chris and the life we shared.