Finally, he says hello. Peeking shyly around Verstovia earlier than yesterday. He watches me, curiously, as I untangle my gear. I'm embarrassed by the state of things. I don't want him to catch me in such a disheveled state, but there's no hiding from him at lunch.
bolder, he stares down at the deck of my little Troller. At me. Knee deep in tackle I neglected last September when I was staring down another winter without him.
He says goodnight from Edgecumbe, whispering he'll come earlier tomorrow. Promising to meet me before I cast off.