Page 54 of Shattered Dreams
It’s not a Roman flutter, but maybe I don't want anythinglikeRoman.
“I have to admit,” Adam comments, swirling his wine, “I didn’t think you’d say yes to a date. It seems like everything in your world is a little complicated.”
I arch a brow. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Not at all,” he responds with a crooked smile. “Ilikecomplicated. It means there’s something real beneath your beauty.”
I sip my wine, letting it burn a little on the way down. “Oh, there’s plenty beneath the surface.”
Am I flirting?
The conversation gets easier. He’s funny, and I find myself laughing. The food arrives, and I manage to eat most of it. It’s nice to have my appetite back. We talk about childhood memories and travel dreams and embarrassing college stories. He doesn’t ask about Roman—not directly—but I catch the flicker of curiosity behind his eyes when I mention Poppy.
At the end of the night, when we stand outside under the restaurant’s string lights, Adam doesn’t step back—he stepscloser.
Close enough that I can feel the warmth of him through my dress.
His eyes search mine, and I see it—the question. The want. But he waits, so fucking patient.
“I had a really great time tonight,” he says softly.
I nod, swallowing. “Me too.”
His fingers brush mine. “You don’t owe me anything, Ava. Just…don’t shut yourself off, okay? You’re allowed to want things.”
There’s a long beat of silence before I answer. “I know.”
He moves closer, hand coming to rest lightly on my waist. “Is this okay?”
My body answers before my mind can. I nod.
And then he kisses me.
It starts slow—tentative. But I lean in, press my lips to his with more certainty. His hand slides up to cradle my jaw, and the moment deepens. My mouth parts. He groans, low and quiet, as our tongues meet, the kiss turning hungrier, hotter. His otherhand slides around my back, pulling me flush against him. I melt into it, into him, letting the tension of the past few weeks drain out through every soft drag of his mouth, every gentle tug of my bottom lip between his teeth.
It feels good to be wanted like this; to feel like I’m someone worth kissing again.
When we break apart, I’m breathless, his forehead resting against mine.
“You’re stunning,” he murmurs.
And for the first time in weeks, I actually believe it.
He kisses me again, deeper this time—his lips hot and searching, like he’s trying to savour my taste. I let myself get lost in it. My hands slide into his hair, my body pressing closer, my pulse pounding in my ears.
It’s the kind of kiss that makes you forget the world exists outside it.
And I need that.
I need to forget.
But then?—
“Ava?”
It’s like someone has thrown a bucket of ice water over me. I freeze, lips still parted, chest heaving. My eyes flutter open, searching the dim space just beyond the glow of the string lights.
Thatvoice.
