Miles didn’t answer, just smiled quietly and asked again, "Do you like it?" Tears welled up in my eyes again, ridiculous and uncontrollable. I nodded quickly, maybe a little too eagerly.He stood calmly beside me, shoulders brushing mine as we both watched the fireworks burst across the sky. Our hands stayed tightly clasped, like two people who had been lost for years and suddenly found their way back to each other. Images flashed through my mind—vague, fleeting, impossible to hold onto. I thought I saw a boy in a white shirt standing in a haze of bright light, looking at me with a gentle smile. He asked, "Eve, what do you like?" The little girl replied, "I like flowers." "Oh?" he said lightly. "What kind of flowers?" "Fireworks!" He blinked, then let out a quiet laugh. "Silly girl, fireworks aren’t flowers." She pouted. "Who says they’re not? I want lots and lots of fireworks on my birthday." The boy stood there in the glow, a trace of regret in his voice. "But
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