Page 82 of The Mayor and the Mystery Man

I checked myself in a mirror above a filing cabinet, willing my eyes not to get all googly. I flicked over to Leo, who was in his own world of nostalgia, looking just as handsome as he did back then.

“Nothing’s changed.” Maria handed over another photo from that concert; this one had me in frame in the front row.

It was rare in life to get objective views of ourselves. Maybe more common now with everybody filming shit. But thanks to this random snapshot, I saw myself, twenty years ago, making googly eyes at my best friend. It was undeniable. I stared up at him with awe and inspiration and, most shockingly, want.

“Holy shit,” I said.

“Here’s another great one.” Maria slid a picture over from a frat party.

Leo and I clinked Solo cups, grinning at each other. And maybe we smiled and said something as we toasted or made some joke to whoever took the picture before chugging. But at that moment, in that split second captured forever on film, we were gazing into each other’s eyes.

He was giving me hard googly eyes, his bottom lip slightly pouting. And sure, his eyes were laser red thanks to crappy disposable cameras, but they were lasered at me.

Leo swiped the photo from my hands and stared hard.

“Are these bringing back any memories for you two?” Maria asked from behind her phone.

I looked at Leo, but he said nothing. In front of him were the photos he’d been studying before I interrupted.

A group shot of us studying on the quad, Leo gazing at me while I made some dumb-ass face.

A group picture of Leo, me, and his fellow legal interns at a bar in New York, arms around each other in the back of the picture, Leo giving me a knowing grin like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

A two-shot of us opening presents with the twins when I visited for Christmas five years ago, me looking up and swooning over him with his new French press machine.

A shot of us laughing while putting on our gladiatorial gear at LeapWorld, a tender expression lancing his face.

Picture after picture.

Year after year.

I tried to meet Leo’s eyes; his face flushed of color. Even Maria put down her phone.

“Excuse me,” he said and left.

“I’m sorry,” Maria said to me. “I’m so sorry. I thought this would be fun.”

I chased after Leo, difficult in such tight quarters. Papers fell, as it was their fate.

Fate.

The word tasted different today. My heart pummeled against my chest, begging to be free.

“Leo!”

He darted out of the office. I swung open the front door, and he walked with fierce determination down the steps and past our car. If he wanted a race, he’d get one.

I gave my quads a quick stretch then bolted down the walkway. I caught up to him on the sidewalk and pulled him back.

“Leo! Where are you going?” I put my hands on his shoulders, begging to see those eyes that had gazed at me for twenty fucking years. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

He seemed out of breath. He was running in his own way.

“I’m fine. I got a big rush of nostalgia and memories. Blast from the past, you know?” He sounded rehearsed like he’d practiced this during his storm out. “Sorry. I need some fresh air.”

“That was quite a walk down Memory Lane.”

“Dust, I have to tell you something,” he said while pacing. The walls around Leo were crumbling, desperate to stay up. My friend was strong, but for the first time, I saw a new kind of fear. His hands were trembling.

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