Page 7 of Maybe This Time
“I hope this isn’t too forward of me, but would you like to be my match?”
Andrew had slipped off his mask at some point during our conversation, and now a hopeful expression softened his sharp features.
His match?
I racked my brain for what he meant, trying to recall what the security guy had said earlier—but my brain stubbornly drew a blank. My confusion must have flickered across my face, but before either of us could say a word, I felt someone step up behind me.
“She’s already taken.”
CHAPTER 5
TALYA
This had to be a dream.Or a really sick joke.
I knew that voice like it was my own, but him being here was impossible. He was supposed to be in France.
Right?
And yet, the pan of nostalgia that rippled through me was unmistakable. No one else’s voice had ever made me feel the way his did.
Acute electric awareness ran down my spine, and with my heart threatening to go into a coronary, I slowly turned my attention to whoever was behind me. Holding onto the tiniest sliver of hope that I was mistaken, and that whoever stood there wouldn’t be the only person I’d ever given my heart to.
And the only one who’d ended up breaking it.
My breath stalled in my chest the moment our gazes met, as if my lungs were momentarily paralyzed. Seconds, minutes, or even hours may have passed as I stared into his green eyes. I watched him with such intensity that I convinced myself this wasn’t him after all, so I tried to blink and dispel the ghost of my past, but he didn’t disappear like I’d expected him to.
Ezra James was really here and he was standing right in front of me.
Because despite the skeleton painted on his face and the three years that had passed since I’d last seen him in person, I’d recognize my childhood best friend anywhere.
His hair was painted white, some of his dark streaks peeking through, but where it usually was messy and falling over the tops of his ears, he’d slicked it back. The black-and-white striped suit he wore framed his broad shoulders—which seemed even broader now—and hugged his lower half like it was made for him.
Considering he was now a renowned pastry chef in Paris and the opening of his first shop was in the works, I’d bet he’d had his Jack Skellington costume tailored.
I pulled in a breath, but it was shallow and sour somehow, making my eyes burn with each passing second. “Ezra?” I pushed past the clog in my throat at saying his name again.
As soon as I’d said it, he blew out a breath like he’d also been holding his ever since our eyes met. “Taly-Belly,” he replied softly, the warm, rich honey of his voice washing the nickname over me like no time had lapsed.
Part of me wished I had the will to get up, run away, and pretend this never happened. Or better yet, that I’d wake up on my couch with drool drying on the side of my face, with my TV asking if I was still watching.
But another—much bigger—part of me had been expecting this exact moment. For an explanation on why I hadn’t heard from him and why he’d stopped calling or sending me letters like he’d done for the major part of the last three years we’d been apart after he left to study under one of the best pastry chefs in the world.
A myriad of emotions pulsed heavily in my veins as the air around us became almost suffocating. I’d always thought we’dfind our way back to each other. That no matter what happened, we’d be connected by all the memories we’d share.
But when I’d stopped hearing from him, it had felt final.
Like I’d never see him again.
“Hi.”
I’d thought of this moment for so long, of what I’d finally say to him when I saw him again, but my head was all over the place and I was still trying to make sense of how he was here… and not 3,437 miles away, like he was supposed to be.
“Hi,” he echoed, that stupidly perfect grin of his pulling at the corner of his lips.
“How…” I started, breathless. “How are you here?”
“I moved back last week.”
