Page 105 of Until We Meet Again

"Good evening, Professor."

He doesn’t turn his face toward me, but there’s a brief pause in the swirling of his glass. In that split second, I see that he isn’t quite as composed as he would probably like me to believe.

"Miss Walsh."

I swear, for just a moment, I forgot just how tall he was as I watch him slowly rise from his seat. He turns his body to mine, his eyes sweeping over me, drinking me in and burning with a hunger that he’s never once tried to hide from me.

Tonight isn't any different.

One look into those golden eyes, which sparkle like diamonds in the sunlight yet hold a darkness that I feel in every corner of my body, is all it takes to realize that I have made a mistake by coming here tonight.

I'm not over him. I'm not even close.

He pulls out a stool, and I settle into the seat beside him at the bar, close enough to feel the heat from his body but with enough distance that we don't touch each other in any way.

"Would you like a drink?"

"Yes, please."

"What would you like?"

"Surely you know. You seemed to this morning anyway." He smiles, turning me into a fucking puddle.

"A large glass of red wine, please."

The same guy with the same mustache stands before us. As he pours my drink, I turn to face Zane, the man I'm so deeply in love with that I have no idea what it feels like not to love him anymore.

"How are you?" he asks, and I almost shatter because the truth is too painful to admit.

"I'm good. Really good, actually." His eyebrows raise slightly, and a hint of surprise crosses his face. Is he shocked that I'm lying to him or that I'm doing just fine without him, even if it's not entirely true? "Are you doing okay?"

His eyes dart away from mine, and he rests his elbows on the bar. He picks up his glass, staring down into the bottom of it, before I hear him respond. "I've been better," he mutters, his voice low, and he doesn't try to mask his real feelings like I did. "Shall we go and sit down?" he asks. I nod and pick up my glass of wine. He stands up and offers me his hand, but I reject it—not because I'm trying to be an ass, but because his touch is lethal, and I'm not ready for it. Being around him is hard enough without him touching me. Instead, he holds his hand out and lets me walk ahead of him.

The bar is busier tonight compared to the last time we were here, with fewer available seats. However, I'm not taking any chances and sitting in a booth with him, knowing how easily he could slide around it. So, I opt for a two-seater where I sit down opposite him, keeping a safe and necessary distance between us. A sly smile forms on his lips, and I know he's in my head—he knows exactly what I'm thinking. I hold his gaze, narrowing my eyes, daring him to make a move or say anything about it, but he remains silent. Instead, unspoken words hang in the air between us.

"You look beautiful, Tessa."

My stomach's in knots, and my emotions are all over the place, but when I look at him, I see nothing but calm in his eyes, which steadies me.

"Why am I here, Zane?"

"Because I asked you to come." Frustration hits me as I realize he still has a hold on me. He asked, and I came running. However, he quickly reads my emotions because a flicker of realization crosses his face. "I don't mean it like that," he says. "I just mean that there must be a part of you that wants to hear me out."

"I'm here because I need closure," I say, watching his eyes briefly close at the finality of my words.

"I hope that isn't true, sweetheart."

"What am I supposed to say? You broke my heart."

"And I'll never forgive myself for that."

"Good, because I'll never forgive you." I snap at him, my words laced with anger.

"I hope that's not true either."

The sound of his voice resonates all over my body. His scent, which I love so much and hasn't left me since the moment I approached him at the bar, is overwhelming. It's too much. All of this is too much. "I'm sorry, I can't do this," I say, trying to stand up from the table. His eyes lock onto mine as he reaches out to grab my hand, a look of fear etched on his face.

"Please, Tessa, don't go," he pleads with his eyes, dropping his calm demeanor. I take a deep breath and try to relax back into my chair, unsure of what to expect from this. "There are things I need to say to you, and if you want to leave when I'm finished, I won't try to stop you. But please, sweetheart, I'm begging you to hear me out."

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