We arrived at my favorite restaurant, the one facing the bay. Matías, the restaurant manager, greets us friendly; we are regular customers of the place. "Mr. Di Marco, good afternoon, the same table as always?" asks my father.

"Yes, please," he answers, and we follow him around the room until we reach the patio, where right next to the glass railing is what we call our place. The following table is occupied by a man wearing a straw hat with a black bow typical of many in Miami. I am surprised to see him reading the newspaper at this time of the day and much more in this place.

I am about to move one of the chairs away when a voice interrupts me and does it for me "allow me, miss."

That voice and accent.

I turned around, and to my surprise, the man sitting at that table was him. "Lucas, what are you doing here?" I ask in a small voice.

I look at my father, and he shrugs his shoulders. "I'm sorry daughter, I think you t