They both glanced at the folded stack of paper peeking from his jacket—postcards printed with a single pale image of a narrow house and the date 20240616 in small type on the back. He shoved them away, as if that made them less real.
Harriet blinked. "It's June sixteenth."
He laughed, embarrassed. "Bad timing to be forgetful." harrietfurr 20240616 fixed
