Page 5 of Lost Summer
I scanned the people bustling around us. Some were tipsy and slurred their words; others danced, spinning recklessly in the mud. But here, amidst the chaos, I was drawn to her. We stood in our own world, insulated from the music and strangers.
“Who have you come to see?” I forced the words out, trying to distract myself from her. She was unlike anyone I’d ever seen before.
Her lips curled into a grin, and it drew me in. “Oasis, mainly,” she said as if she were confessing a secret passion. “But I want to check out the new bands, too. See what’s up and coming. What about you?” she asked casually. Her body shifted closer, drawn in by the shrinking space crowded with people. “Sorry, it’s getting crowded.” Adele motioned around us.
Never apologise for moving closer to me.
I drained my beer, grateful for something to occupy my hands. “I’ll be honest…” I leaned in slightly, closing the distance without really thinking about it. Her skin smelled faintly of vanilla, but there was a hint of something else—something more decadent, more intoxicating, like the warm scent of chocolate. “My mates paid for my ticket,” I added with a grin. “So, here I am.”
Adele blinked, her eyes searching mine. “But you like music, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, swallowing hard as I drew my gaze over her soft lips again. “I like music. But I’m here for the atmosphere—that electric feeling in the air. I’ve never been to a festival before.”
“Me neither!” Adele’s face broke into a bright smile, a genuine one that radiated her happiness as though we’d already found some unique, private connection.
The surrounding crowd pulsed with loud chatter, roaring laughter, and faint echoes of guitar strings. Behind us, large speakers pumped out sounds strong enough that the ground vibrated beneath my feet. But everything outside this small circle of space felt irrelevant. All that mattered was the way her laughter cut through the noise, ringing like music itself.
“I guess you aren’t from around here,” I remarked, needing to know more about her, needing another excuse to drag this conversation out. I leaned closer.
Adele shrugged, helpless but amused, cupping her ear. “Sorry, what was that?” she asked.
I moved in, lowering my voice until it felt intimate and secretive. “I said, where are you from?”
She shivered. There was that pull between us again—that almost magnetic tension that made everything around us buzz louder as if the universe was conspiring to shove us closer.
“I’m from further north,” she murmured, her voice soft but laced with vulnerability. “A little town called Insley.” Her breath tickled the side of my neck as she said it, and it took every shred of willpower I had not to pull her even closer.
I didn’t know whereInsleywas, nor did I care. The more she spoke, the more I realised how irrelevant the world felt outside of this moment.
“Do you want a drink?” I jutted my thumb toward the line of festival-goers lining up for the bar, but she hadn’t answered before I tapped Lloyd on the shoulder, lacing my hand with Adele’s.
Fuck, this feels right.
“We’re going to the bar,” I called, stepping back reluctantly into the loud crowd.
Lloyd was grinning like an idiot, clearly pleased to have a girl’s attention for the night. I realised it was Adele’s friend—Isaw her electric blue hair flicking about, catching strobe lights in flashes.
Onward to the bar, I confronted a daunting wall of moving bodies all pressing toward the same goal—beer. I shoved through, dragging Adele along with me.
She slipped and faltered slightly in the mud as we fought forward, frustration knitting her brow. “I hate being small,” she huffed, her voice barely cutting through the noise.
“You? Nah. I think it’scute.” The word escaped me, but it was the truth. She was fucking cute. And sexy.
“Until everyone is crushing me,” she shot back playfully.
“I’ll protect you,” I teased, injecting lightness into the banter. “My little sister is small like you—always asking me to get something out of her reach.”
“How old is she?” Adele asked.
“Fifteen. And trust me—she’s stopped growing. Not so different from you, height-wise.”
“Good thing she has atall,strappingbrother,” Adele mocked, exaggerating the words that made me chuckle. “How tallareyou?” Her question was so matter-of-fact that I couldn’t help but laugh again.
I smirked, leaning in closer as I towered over her, feeling her body press against mine despite the crowd. “Six foot.At least two feet taller than you, princess.”
Adele narrowed her eyes, folding her arms in that irresistibly cute way, and for a moment, she pouted, her full lips drawing my gaze downward. “I’mnotfour feet!” she protested.
“You’re fuckinggorgeous,” I whispered, the words tumbling from my lips without warning. And the sense of relief was instant—freeing—like the air between us had needed those words spoken aloud.
