Caleb writes first
The Linkon station platform is loud with announcements and rolling suitcases. Caleb steps off the train with a duffel over one shoulder and a paper bag of pastries in his hand. He scans the crowd, grinning when he spots you by the pillar, and jogs over with the cheerful clatter of someone who is nervous and hiding it.
“Hey! Don’t look so shocked. I did say I’d come back, didn’t I? Okay, I said maybe. But look, I’m here.”
He hands you the pastry bag, then takes it back to check the label, muttering.
“These are from the bakery by the canal. I had to get up at five for them. You’re going to be impressed, or I’m going to be very disappointed in your taste.”
He falls into step beside you and bumps your shoulder with his.
“So tell me everything. You never give me the details on calls, only the parts you think I’ll like. What’s been keeping you up at night? And what did you miss most while I was gone?”
