A Kiss to Remember

Chapter 12 — Still Feels Like Something

The hotel bar was almost empty when I walked in. Warm light spilled across polished wood and quiet jazz hummed low through the speakers. My heels clicked softly against the floor — too loud for how quiet it was.

And there he was...

Sitting at the far end of the bar, sleeves rolled up, a glass in front of him. His tie was loose, hair a little out of place. He looked tired.

For half a second, I thought about turning back. Pretending I hadn’t seen him. But I didn’t move.

He looked up, eyes catching mine like he’d known I was there all along.

He approached me, sitting a few stools away from me. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

I shook my head, “Something like that.”

He smiled. Faint, tired. “Join the club.”

The bartender came over, polite smile, towel over his arm. “Something to drink?”

“Just water,” I said. “With lemon, please.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Water? In Paris? That’s bold.”

I gave a small shrug. “It’s been a long day.”

He hummed in agreement, staring back down at his drink. “Yeah. It has.”

For a while, neither of us said anything. Just the sound of the faint hum of jazz in the background.

Then he said quietly, “You used to like nights like this.”

I glanced at him.

He smiled a little. “You said the world felt softer after midnight.”

That made me laugh under my breath. “Can’t believe you remember that.”

“I remember a lot of things. Don't you forget that. I think I've mentioned that quite a lot.” His tone softened, but his eyes didn’t quite meet mine.

Something fluttered in my chest — that stupid, familiar ache I thought I’d buried.

He leaned back a little, watching me. “Do you regret it?”

I frowned. “Regret what?”

“Coming here.”

I hesitated. “I didn’t plan this. It just… happened.”

He smiled faintly. “You always say that, like life just happens to you.”

“And you always make it sound like you’ve got everything figured out.”

That earned a quiet laugh. “Old habits die hard.”

The air between us shifted. Like we both knew we were standing near something we shouldn’t touch.

---

After a moment, he said, “You’ve changed.”

“So have you.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Guess time does that.”

He looked down at his drink, and something flickered across his face — regret, maybe. Or something worse.

“I didn’t know it was your company,” I said quietly.

He nodded once. “I know.”

“I never would’ve—”

He cut in gently. “Applied?”

I hesitated. “Maybe not. Maybe I would’ve. I don’t know.”

He finally met my eyes. “You always underestimate what you mean to people, Lana.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

The bartender walked past, changing the song on the speaker — a slower piano tune now, softer.

Daniel looked at me again. “You know, when you walked in that door on your first day, I thought I was seeing things.”

My lips parted. “You didn’t say anything.”

He gave a half-smile. “Would you have stayed if I did?”

I looked away. “Probably not.”

He chuckled.

He turned his glass. “I keep wondering if some things are meant to come back… or if we just can’t let them go.”

The words hung there between us. Too heavy, too real.

And then — buzz.

His phone lit up on the counter.

Once. Twice.

He glanced at the screen, and everything in his face changed. Whatever softness had been there just… vanished.

“Daniel?” I asked.

He stood, slipping the phone into his pocket. “I have to go.”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause, a heartbeat where I thought he might say something, explain, stay. But he didn’t.

“Goodnight, Lana,” he said quietly.

Then he walked out, leaving his drink half-finished and me staring after him.