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know every little start-up and giant software empire in the state. Who are you working for?”
    Your wife. I lifted an eyebrow in answer.
    He smiled into the sand and gave a nod. “What’s the project?”
    You. I lifted my other eyebrow.
    He chuckled that time. “So secretive. This must be something cutting edge. Or else you’re working for the government.”
    “Or maybe I’m working for one of your competitors,” I said, realizing my slip one second too late.
    Of course, Henry didn’t miss it. The skin between his eyebrows lined. “What makes you think I’ve got competitors in the software industry?”
    Dammit . I’d had no contact with Henry since our junior year of college. Other than knowing he was the kind of computer geek-slash-genius who made Microsoft’s software engineers look like a bunch of bush leaguers, I shouldn’t know anything about Henry’s post-college career. And I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t studied and memorized every little detail in the file his wife had put together for me.
    It was a good thing I’d been trained to be quick on my feet. A small smile lifted into place. “Because you were programming C++ in your sleep when you were in first grade. If you don’t own your own company that other companies can only dream about competing with, then you must have had a lobotomy somewhere along the way.” I had to pause and suck in a breath before I could get out the next part. “The boy I knew was destined for greatness.”
    Those words stung for two reasons. One, because I hated saying them despite knowing any man, every man, craved people believing they were destined for something great. And two, because at one time, I’d believed it wholeheartedly. Henry Callahan was a guy anyone could have a one-minute conversation with and walk away knowing big things were on the horizon for him.
    As expected, his expression softened a bit as his smile lifted higher. The pallor of his skin seemed to brighten as his shoulders lifted an inch or two, like a heavy pack had just been removed. “You’re right about one of those two things. I was programming C++ in first grade. But the whole destined for greatness thing . . . that’s been gone for a while now.”
    The sadness in his voice was unmistakable. The weight returned to his shoulders as the fresh color drained from his face.
    “Why’s that?” I asked, genuinely curious. Nothing in Henry’s file gave away that he’d been brought to his proverbial knees somewhere along the way, so why did he look as though he’d never been lower?
    “Long story,” he said around a sigh. His eyes made their way to me again. I almost shifted under their scrutiny.
    I tried a small laugh to diffuse the intensity. It failed. “And you say I’m the mysterious one?” I laughed another few notes. Not. Working. “What happened to the open book of a guy I remember?” And, obviously, the open bed of a guy policy.
    “Everything.” His voice was as strong as it was weak. Everything about Henry was different, yet the same. He was a ghost of the man I remembered.
    But then, I was a ghost of the girl I’d been, too. Life had turned us into shadows.
    Okay, enough with the heavy. “So what have you been up to? Besides being mysterious?”
    “And other than programming C++ in my sleep?”
    He joined me halfway through my laugh. It was an honest-to-goodness one that time, which made me ache all over again. Laughing with Henry brought back so many good memories, it was painful.
    “After college, I started up a little software development company.” He gave a half shrug.
    He was still modest, or humble, or exceptional at keeping up the act. “And that start-up stayed little for how long? A year? Maybe two?”
    Henry smiled into the sand. “We went public eight months after opening.”
    From start-up, to going public, to being worth billions.
    “Underachiever,” I mumbled.
    “What about you? What have you been up to since”—I didn’t miss him casually glancing