The last hour of the musky Edinburgh afternoon, she stopped discussing Byron, treaded more slowly, inhaled more deeply.

“Goodbye, Todd.”

I stopped.

She smiled, misty-eyed, as I tucked the flowers behind her ear. “I’ll write to you,” I said.

She nodded, quipped about getting on a time machine, and left.

Chelsea Allen wrote this story as a sequel to her piece The Librarian and the Time Machine, previously published here on 50-Word Stories.