Page 101

She’s safe here with me. For years the world has had access to her – crowded streets, strangers, people who don’t know how easily things can be taken away. I’ve watched from a distance longer than anyone would understand, waiting for the right moment, the right time. When I lost her, it nearly drove me insane. Now she’s here, unpacking the small pieces of her life across my apartment floor.

The black surfaces in the room catch the warm light shining through the windows, but Bryn is the only real colour in the place. It’s as if I’m watching paint spread across a blank canvas, as though a part of me is finally coming to life. Pushing away from the counter, I walk slowly toward the couch, my gaze drifting over the things slowly being spread around my space. A small smile pulls at the corner of my mouth before I can stop it. I’ve waited years for this – years of wondering if she would ever come back into my life. Part of me still can’t believe she has.

Her fingers hover over a small framed photo before she sets it carefully on the shelf beside the lounge. It looks strange there, soft and personal against the dark wood. I like that pieces of her are starting to appear everywhere I look.

‘You don’t have to unpack everything tonight,’ I say, noticing that she seems a little overwhelmed.

She glances over her shoulder at me. A small smile touches her mouth. ‘I know,’ she says, brushing her hands on her jeans as she stands. ‘I just hate living out of a bag.’

Her eyes drift around the apartment like she’s seeing it properly for the first time. ‘You really live like this?’ she asks.

I raise a brow. ‘Like what?’

‘So minimal.’ She gestures vaguely around the room. ‘You could probably pack up your entire life in ten minutes.’

I laugh quietly. ‘I do like being efficient.’

‘Seems a little lonely,’ she counters softly.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. She’s close enough now that I can see the faint freckles across her nose, the slight crease between her brows when she’s thinking. I’ve spent years remembering details like these. My gaze drifts to her mouth before I can stop it. She shifts slightly, like she feels the change in the air. Her fingers toy with the hem of her sleeve.

‘You said we were going out tonight,’ she murmurs.

‘Yes. I’m taking you to dinner.’

Her eyes bounce back up to mine. ‘Okay.’

The silence stretches between us again, and I take a step closer. She doesn’t move away, but tilts her head up slightly to keep looking at me.

‘You should finish getting ready,’ I suggest, but I don’t move, and neither does she.

‘Ash …’

My name leaves her mouth, soft and uncertain, and something dark stirs in my chest. I reach out and brush my fingers lightly against hers. I slide my hand a little higher, my fingers curling gently around her wrist. I feel the warmth of her skin against mine.

‘I’ve loved you ever since I met you,’ I whisper. Her eyes widen in surprise at the confession. ‘But you already know that, just as you know I’m still in love with you. I always will be.’

I step back before she can speak, leaving the words hanging between us. I reach for the jacket draped over the back of the chair, my fingers curling around the leather without hesitation. I shrug it on in one smooth motion, settling its weight over my shoulders.

‘Go get your jacket,’ I say, my voice rougher now. ‘We’ll miss the reservation.’

She studies me for a moment, like she’s trying to read something in my face. Then she nods, hesitant.

‘Okay.’

When she turns and walks toward the bed, I stay exactly where I am, staring at the spot where she was standing. My hand still feels warm. I flex my fingers slowly, the thought of them running over her body later striking me in a way that has my composure slipping and heat crawling up my neck. I grab my keys from the counter. Bryn emerges from the bedroom, jacket in hand, her hair falling lightly across her shoulders. She catches my eyes for a second, the small curve of her mouth telling me she’s aware of the tension lingering between us.

We step outside, the cool night air washing over us. I close the car door behind Bryn. The engine roars to life, and I settle into the driver’s seat, glancing at her beside me. The evening lights pass in a blur, warm and soft against the windows. Bryn is quiet, her hands folded in her lap, pensively staring out the window.

The restaurant is only a few blocks away, a modern place with soft lighting and tables spaced just far enough apart to feel private. I don’t dine out often, so I hope the reviews weren’t exaggerating by saying the food lives up to the elegance of the place.

Red and blue lights flashing ahead catch my attention. I slow the car instinctively. Bryn leans forward slightly, curious.

‘Oh, what’s happened?’ she murmurs.

I look at the scene. Two men are being led toward a squad car, their hands cuffed. It’s them: the ones who’ve been breathing down my neck for weeks, threatening me and poking at my life in ways I won’t tolerate.

Bryn turns to me. ‘Do you know them?’