Free You Can't Hurry Love by Beth K. Vogt

a night.”
    â€œI’m not far behind you. Take care, Jamie.”
    He could turn away now, get on the elevator, and go back up to his room to finish packing. But some unexplainable urge that would not be ignored made him step forward as Elisabeth finished talking with the front-desk clerk.
    â€œSo, you’re all ready to go?”
    â€œWhat?” Elisabeth stumbled to a stop, pulling her suitcase up along beside her.
    Jamie nodded toward the front desk. “Checked out?”
    â€œYes. I just need the valet to get my car—”
    â€œDo you have time for a cup of coffee?”
    â€œNow?”
    â€œI have a late flight out. I thought maybe we could sit . . . talk . . . you know . . .”
    Elisabeth seemed to waver between a yes and a no, but then she nodded. “Sure. I’m the one with the drive back home to the Springs.”
    Elisabeth arranged to leave her suitcase at the front desk, and within minutes they were seated in the Coffee and Tea Co. located near the entrance of the hotel. Elisabeth opted for hot tea, while he stuck with coffee, strong and black.
    â€œTori and Pete are on their way to Hawaii, I guess.” He wrapped his hands around the mug.
    â€œIt certainly helps to have a relative who owns a condo there, doesn’t it?”
    â€œI’m happy for them.”
    â€œMe, too.”
    Silence settled between them. Just as he began to wonder how to fill the void . . . why he hadn’t just gone to his room . . . Elisabeth set her mug on the table.
    â€œJamie, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œThe other day, you told me that you were sorry about how you responded to my Dear John letter. That you wish you hadn’t sent it. That you hadn’t let your classmates write all those comments.”
    â€œI have to admit, it felt good to finally get that off my chest.”
    â€œWell . . . I wanted to explain why I sent the letter.”
    â€œElisabeth, you don’t have to—”
    â€œBut I need to. For me. For both of us. You had your chance to explain yourself. I’d like my chance, too. Maybe then we can go our separate ways again today and remember each other fondly.”
    Remember each other fondly? Is that what he wanted? To let Elisabeth walk out of his life again?
    No.
    A part of him wanted to ask her if there was any possibility that they could . . . not pick up where they left off. That was the stuff of romance movies. But maybe they could start over. Talk. E-mail. Discover who they were now . . . and see where the relationship went.
    And maybe the first step was letting Elisabeth talk.
    He leaned forward. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
    â€œI don’t know if you remember what I said in the letter—”
    â€œNot word for word—and certainly not all these years later. I do remember you were pretty vague. You said something like ‘we aren’t going to work out’ and ‘we’re too young to be so serious about each other.’ And you said you were sorry. I remember that.”
    Elisabeth twisted her hands together. “I wrote the letter for two reasons. First, because someone had asked me if I really thought I had what it took to be a military wife.”
    â€œWhat? Who asked you that?”
    She looked away, taking a sip of her tea, her braid falling forward over her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. I hadn’t dated anyone but you in high school. And I knew there were plenty of girls who would love to take my place as your girlfriend.”
    â€œI didn’t care about that.”
    â€œI know, but it did get kind of old, being reminded all the time . . .” She shook her head, as if trying to silence voices from the past. “Then this . . . person asked me if I was ready to be alone a lot. If I was ready to be a widow if you were killed in