And standing there, I suddenly remembered a night I had spent six months forcing myself to forget.

It had happened shortly before Rosalie and I finalized the divorce, when a massive ice storm grounded every flight across the South.

Rosalie had come by our old penthouse to collect a few last boxes, and neither of us had meant to stay more than ten minutes.

But the storm trapped us inside, and so we ordered food, and opened a bottle of wine, and for the first time in over two years we stopped arguing and talked, honestly, about the early years, about why we had fallen in love in the first place.

For one night, the enormous distance between us simply vanished.