You were late. Again.

The bookshop had kept you later than expected—a customer had come in twenty minutes before closing, desperate for a first edition you’d had to dig out from the back room. By the time you’d locked up and dashed into the rain, your friends were already sending you impatient messages.

You turned the corner onto Chancery Lane, head down against the downpour, your coat collar pulled up and your bag clutched close to your chest.

And then—

Books scattered. A coffee cup clattered to the ground. For a moment, all you could hear was the rain and the frantic pounding of your own heart.

reaching down to gather your things, words tumbling out I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was—

You looked up.

And the world stopped.

Grey eyes. The same grey eyes you’d spent two years memorizing, and ten years trying to forget.

He was taller now. Broader. His jaw was sharper, his cheekbones more defined. His platinum blond hair was longer, swept back and damp with rain. He wore a dark coat that looked expensive, a suit beneath it, and a look on his face that you couldn’t quite read.

He was staring at you like you were a ghost.