The next few months trickled by in a blissful haze.

Half the time, I would wake up and convince myself that it had all been a dream. Considering what Casey and I had been through, it wasn't farfetched to imagine that my mind had made it all up.

However, each morning, Casey would sway into the kitchen with her oversized baggy pajamas, looking cute as hell. She would yawn and go to pour herself some cereal without saying a word. Her hair would be sticking up in all directions, but she never looked more beautiful than she did in those simple moments in the morning. Of course, before we started dating, I'd say something stupid to get under her skin.

I only wanted to get her attention.

It continues to boggle my mind that Casey ever believed me whenever I called her ugly.

Fuck.

I loved my beautiful girl then, and I love her even more now.

It wasn't until she would put a hand on my shoulder for me to bend down so that she could give me a kiss on the cheek, that gorgeous ring on her finger shining, that I would realize that it hadn't all been some freakish nightmare.

It really had happened.

And even though our adventure had been extremely stress inducing, watching the love of my life nearly die after somehow time traveling to one of the greatest disasters of all time, had been my saving grace.

It brought Casey and I together.

And we were able to save the ship from ever sinking while finally admitting our feeling for one another.

Sometimes, when I'm alone in my room, I'll look up the Titanic. I hold my breath each time, convinced that it will somehow go back to the way it had always been. It will say that it hit the iceberg and the Californian never came to the rescue.

Casey and I don't talk about what happened to us.

Any time I try to approach the subject, she turns a bright smile my way and immediately changes the topic. After about the tenth time of attempting to talk to her about it, she finally said in a quiet voice, "I don't want to think about you dying in front of me."

And that had been that.

I've never tried to talk to her about it again. It was in the past and we now have the future to think about.

That's all that matters – the fact that we've been given the opportunity to have a future together in the first place, and I sure as hell don't intend to screw it up.

"Table 12 is specially asking for you," Jake says in my ear, pulling me from my thoughts. He's a new kid I hired a few weeks ago to ease my workload. I look past him towards table 12 and sure enough, three girls are giggling away, looking in my direction.

"I could tell them you're off the market and completely pussy whipped if you don't want to go over there," he says, giving me an amused smile. I elbow him in the arm but can't help but grin. Even he knows I have it bad for my step-sister.

I've only talked about Casey every day since he started working at Smelly Nelly's.

I can't seem to help myself. Sometimes, she would do something so adorable that I just had to let it out.

Shit, I'm turning into Casey herself. Yeah, I'm completely pussy whipped, and I couldn't care less.

"Even whipped guys need a good tip," I wink, pulling out my notepad from the front of my apron before walking past Jake and towards their table. I must admit that waiting tables was a lot easier when I was single. I didn't have to necessarily 'act' my way through a shift. I'd flirt incessantly, leaving with a few phone numbers and over one-hundred bucks in my pocket.

It's more or less the same still, except I now leave their phone number on the table for the bus boy to throw away.

"Ladies," I say, turning up the charm several notches, though I get right down to business. "Have you decided what you want?"

"I have," the blonde to my left purrs, looking me up and down while placing an elbow over her menu. It's obvious she is completely disinterested in food at the moment. Her friend rolls her eyes, and I can't help but scoff as she kicks the thirsty girl under the table. "Ow!"

"I'll have a garden salad with olive vinaigrette," the brunette chimes in quickly, giving her friend a stern look that says 'don't embarrass me.'

"I'll have the same," the blonde says through gritted teeth, rubbing her sore leg. I nod my head and write it down, thankful that this girl was saving me from an hour of acting like I was interested in her friend.

The third girl orders a turkey and swiss with the minestrone soup – a regular meal. I tell them it will be out shortly as I start to make my way towards the kitchen but am stopped in my tracks when I hear Jake call my name.

"Derek!" I look over just in time to see Jake quickly walking up to me. "Someone's asking for you."

Not another one.

I think to myself it's probably another girl vying for my attention. It seems to be slightly excessive these days like they can tell I'm off the market. Having a girlfriend really did cause women to swarm like hungry vultures. I look in the direction to where he is pointing. An older woman is standing in the doorway, looking at me like she has seen a ghost.

I've never laid eye on her before.

"For me?" I ask Jake, beyond confused.

"Mmhmm. She said it was probably crazy to even ask but wanted to know if a Derek Venturi worked here. When I pointed you out, the lady 'bout keeled over. I gotta hand it to ya man. You really do make all the women go weak in the knees," he joked.

I roll my eyes before shoving table 12's order in his hand. "Take that to Pablo."

I leave him behind, making my way to the front of the restaurant. The woman's eyes remain as wide as saucers when I approach her. I want to ask her what in the hell she wants, but I'm a professional and still on the job.

"Can I help you?" I ask in my most polite voice imaginable.

"Are you Derek…Venturi?" she asks hesitantly.

"I am. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Um," she begins, looking down at something clutched in her hands. "This is going to sound a bit crazy, but I have something for you. At least, I think it's for you."

She holds the letter in her hand out to me. I look down at her outstretched fist, and I can see that the paper had seen better days. The moment my fingers touch it, I can feel how frail it is.

"My mother told me to hold onto it. She made me swear that I would bring it to you one day when she was on her deathbed. I thought she was a crazy old woman just like my great-grandfather was and I almost didn't come, but I kept looking at it and wondering if…I needed to know for myself if the stories were true."

I furrow my brow in confusion at her weird statement before looking down at the envelope. Written in perfect cursive was my name and nothing else. I slowly open it to find a single piece of paper tucked inside. I unfold it gently, afraid that it will rip.

It takes a moment before my eyes adjust, but the second I see those first three words written, I have to sit down on the stool next to me, convinced I'm on the verge of passing out.

It can't be…

My dearest boy,

I hope this letter finds you well. It has been many years since I last saw you but not a day has gone by that I have not thought about you and your beautiful young Casey. I prayed vigorously for your safe return home. It has been thirty-two years since we said our goodbyes, and the passing time has been exceedingly kind to me. After arriving in New York, our Imogen and her Harold were there to greet us with open arms. I thank you for giving Bessie and I the opportunity to live a full life, and I owe our survival to you entirely. I have, and always will, cherish our short time together.

Six months after settling in New Jersey, my first and only grandchild, Mary, was born. As I gazed down at that sweet babe, grateful for every moment I would be blessed to have with her, all I wanted to do in that moment was reach out to you and let you know how rich and full my life had truly become. I swore I would never take a single day for granted, and I'm happy to say, I never have.

I soon remembered the words that I had spoken to you before boarding the Californian. I once said that you may receive a letter from me and that I had a few surprises up my sleeve, yet. When I spoke those words, I must admit, I had no idea how I would reach you when the time came. But from that moment forward, I made sure to tell Mary stories about Derek and his Casey. She would laugh when I spoke of the time you had dinner with Captain Smith and those stuffy rich men, and how Casey wasn't pleased with your behavior when you'd had a little too much to drink to keep from dying of boredom.

I recalled our run in with the ship's officers while sneaking into the Marconi room and she vigorously agreed over your utter distain for my mustache. She also cried when I told her about our goodbyes and how unfinished the story felt regarding your love for Casey. I assured her that the two of you found your happily ever after. If you know what is good for you, you heeded my advice and held tight to that sweet girl. If not, I will haunt you from beyond the grave, mark my words.

However, as Mary got older, she perceived our adventure as nothing more than fiction.

I told her that every word spoken had been true and that I owe my survival to you, and the survival of her grandmother. It wasn't until I spoke to her about needing to reach you in the year 2007, that she began to sense that I had made you up in my mind and that her grandfather was nothing more than a senile old coot. I couldn't blame her really.

I continue to see the hesitancy in Mary's eyes, but I've given her your full name and the ridiculous name of the establishment in which to work, to ensure that one day, this letter will find you in London, Ontario.

She's a mother herself now, with three boys and one girl. Just as I had done with her, I tell them stories of you, my dear friend, that I miss beyond words. By the time it is 2007, it will be up to one of them to ensure that you receive this letter.

I hope that you and Casey are well. Remember to always hold dear to that beautiful girl and treat her with the respect and kindness that she deserves.

Regret is a terrible thing.

Perhaps, by chance, you and I will meet again one day. Until then, I will continue to hold tight to the truest friendship I have ever known.

With Love Always,

Declan

April, 1944

I stare for what seems like hours at the signature and date signed at the bottom. I can't help the smile that breaks out on my face after reading his signed name. It's not until a tear falls on the piece of paper that I realize I was crying. I immediately wipe at my face, determined to not smudge the brittle material in my hands.

Fuck.

Declan always had a way of making me sob like a little girl.

"How?" For a moment, I forgot the older women was standing there, looking at me in pure shock. Her words are like a hushed whispered. "That letter was written decades before you were ever born."

I look back down at the letter, taking in each flawless stroke of his pen.

"Even decades apart," I begin slowly, unsure of how to begin. "Declan's one hell of a guy – He's my best friend."