Page 246 of If By Chance

I’ve been home six weeks, and I’m too nervous to face the man who probably knows the deepest parts of my soul.

I know it was real.

But a year is a long time.

Has he moved on?

Is he happier without me?

Will my coming back also bring him back in time?

I haven’t reached out because I fear the answers.

“See you later, baby girl.” My mother kisses my cheek.

“Bye, Mama.”

Music spills from every room when I go inside. The smell of fresh paint still lingers in the air. My smile is so wide it’s painful as I stroll down the halls, peeking through the windows to see happy children.

My room is on the ground floor, with a brand new piano in the center, and Fresh Air Blue on the walls.

Running my fingers through my hair—it’s still shoulder length because I don’t need it to hide behind anymore—I sit at the piano and play while I wait.

The bell rings, indicating the end of a lesson and the start of a new one, but I keep playing.

I try to convince myself I’m imagining the tingle along my spine, the familiar awareness that prickles on my skin. But it’s so powerful, I can’t ignore it. Turning, I slowly lift my head, and my fingers slip from the keys.

Home.

Dressed head to toe in a dark tailored suit, white dress shirt, black tie, and the most breath-taking smirk. He still doesn’t have a hair out of place.

All the best memories come flooding back.

It knocks the breath out of me in a whoosh. And with the sight of him—hands in his pockets and muscular shoulders almost filling my doorway—my eyes water whether I want them to or not.

“Hi,” I say, but my voice is trembling, and it sounds more like a choked whisper.

His eyes stay on mine and in a second, every memory washes over me.

Every time he touched me.

Every whisper.

Every kiss.

Every time I screamed his name.

Every time he held me just to keep me together.

He’s only a couple of feet away, but it feels like miles.

A slow curl on the corner of his mouth and I melt all the way to my feet.

I thought the time away would lessen the zing that echoes in my chest from just the sight of him. I thought leaving our vacuum would put things into perspective.

It does, but not in the way I expected.

The pull is still there—the unexplainable need to put one foot in front of the other just to be near him. I stand from the stool to feel closer.