Page 17 of Lost Summer
Truthfully, I had no idea where the bathrooms were, but I couldn’t stand another minute beneath Marco’s predatory gaze. His confidence dripped like honey, thick and overbearing. If there was one thing I avoided at all costs, it was office romances—let alone casual sex with someone I’d have to face every Monday morning.
No matter how much his lean, muscular frame or those captivating emerald eyes might be tempting.
I glanced over my shoulder as Marco turned his attention to a group of dazzling women, his smile like the cat that got the cream.
Farewell, Marco. Enjoy your next conquest.
The hallway was dimly lit and thankfully deserted. I made my way to the French doors that led onto the balcony, and the cool breeze immediately hit me. It was a relief compared to the suffocating atmosphere inside. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, moving towards the silhouette by the railing—a tall, broad figure hunched over slightly as though the weight of the world pressed onto his shoulders.
I’d just have to hope he wasn’t the wanker from the other newspaper because then I’d have to throw him over the balcony.
“Stifling in there, isn’t it?” I murmured.
The man stirred but didn’t turn to face me. His posture was hunched—defeated, almost. The wind played with his dark hair, and he let out a rough sigh, the sound carrying a thousand unsaid things.
“Feels like a cage,” he admitted, his voice low and hoarse, tinged with something I couldn’t quite name.
“I agree.” I stood beside him, staring out at the city. I let out a quiet sigh and leaned against the railing, the cold metal biting into my palms. “I’m here on business, but I’d rather be on my sofa with my cat.” I gazed out into the spiderweb of city lights, each bright point feeling like a distant, unreachable reality rather than a glow of warmth.
He glanced sideways at me, his profile caught in the moonlight, but my eyes were still lost in the electric skyline. It reminded me of promises half-kept, dreams half-lived.
“Sounds like a good plan. Shall we?” His voice was tempting and playful, like an unseen current pulling me in deeper.
I let myself smile, a polite gesture to humour a stranger. “I’ve got to work, or I would. It doesn’t help that I’m here with someone I had a drunken thing with from work.”
I groaned inwardly at myself. Foot in mouth, as always.
Why did I say that? Where was the filter between my brain and my lips?
“Shit, really?”
There was a mild curiosity in his voice, but mostly, it felt like the kind of conversation you have with someone in an elevator, sharing more than you’d planned because you know you’ll never see them again. Or so I thought. And perhaps that’s why I pressed on.
“Yeah,” I said, exhaling lightly. “He thinks we’re having an encore tonight, but I’ve told him I’m going back to my boyfriend.”
He turned then, and as my smile curved wider with a joke on the tip of my tongue, I came face-to-face with eyes that left me breathless, the world spinning beneath me. Pond green, depthless, they seemed to shimmer under the moonlight.
“He’s my cat. But don’t tell anyone,” I whispered weakly, the grin fading from my lips as recognition cut through the air like a hot blade through butter.
His smile crooked, the one I had seen a decade ago through summer haze, through the bloom of distant fireworks, on lips that had once whispered my name against my skin.
“Adele?” His voice was a caress, a ghost from a memory that hadn’t haunted me in years—until now.
“Ted?"
Holy fuck
My breath hitched, and suddenly, the air around us felt like an exhale stuck in my throat.
Ted. Here. In front of me.
Edward.
“Edward?” a voice roared up the hallway, loud enough to shatter the fragile bubble that had briefly encased us. A bald man with flushed cheeks hurried toward us like a human wrecking ball. “Elena’s going mad looking for you!”
Ted—Edward—glanced at me one more time, his grip tightening momentarily on the balcony rail, his eyes still locked on mine with an intensity that made my knees feel like water.
Surely, this was a hallucination.
