The Years Between Us

5. Not Ready Yet

I woke up late for the first time since Lumiere opened. My alarm had already stopped ringing long before I managed to open my eyes. My body felt immensely heavy, as if I hadn’t rested at all, and the weak light slipping through the curtains told me it was far later than usual.

I sat up slowly at the edge of the bed, and just like that—like an invisible hand pulling me back into a place I wasn’t ready for—everything from last night came crashing down at once. Ezra. The bar. His eyes. How is she?

My chest tightened immediately. I lowered my head, pressing my palms flat against my face as I drew a long, ragged breath, but it didn’t help. Nothing did. His face stayed anyway, carved into my mind without my permission: his bloodshot eyes, his shaking hands, and the desperate way he had said my name, like he was running out of air.

Fifteen years. I had spent fifteen years burying all of it, teaching myself how to live without Ezra Hale, and stubbornly convincing myself that leaving him had been the right choice. Yet, a single night was all it took to undo everything.

I exhaled slowly and forced myself to stand. Lumiere would still open today, and Nadine’s dress still wasn’t finished. Irony had a strange way of staying close; of everyone in this city, it was Ezra’s fiancée who had brought him back into my life, as if something had been waiting for us all along. No matter how far I ran, or how long I stayed away, he still found a way back in. Perhaps I just needed to accept that he was here again now, whether I wanted him to be or not.

“Ms. Adam…? Ms. Adam…? Boss?”

Jully’s voice pulled me out of the trance. I blinked, turning toward the doorway where she hesitated before stepping inside, holding out a cream-colored envelope with elegant gold detailing. “Sorry, Ms. Adam. I called you a few times.”

“It’s fine, Jully. I was just distracted.”

“Can I make you some coffee?”

I nodded once, and she left quietly.

My attention dropped to the envelope on my desk. The gold-inked lettering caught the light softly as I slid it open: Invitation to Ms. Meara Adam. It was from Nadine Rowe—an invitation to her birthday party. Tonight. Eight o’clock.

stared at it longer than I should have. It felt wrong. Not in a dramatic way, just entirely misplaced. No one invited someone to a party this suddenly; at least, not normally. There should have been notice, planning, time. Unless this wasn’t something planned at all, or unless I was simply the one overthinking everything now. After last night, that didn’t feel impossible.

If I was being honest, I wanted an excuse not to go, and this invitation was perfect for that. It was too sudden, too last-minute. A polite refusal would be so easy. But then, what if she was disappointed? Nadine wasn’t just a client; she mattered to Lumiere.

I sighed and picked up my phone.

You: Nadine Rowe invited me to her birthday party.

Reina read it immediately. The screen indicated she was typing, then stopping, then typing again.

Reina: Are you going?

I stared at the screen.

You: Should I?

A heavy pause stretched between us. Then—

Reina: If you’re asking me that, I assume you’ve already met Ezra.

My fingers slowed over the keyboard.

You: We met yesterday. And I’m not ready to see him again.

This time, her reply came much faster.

Reina: He won’t approach you in front of his fiancée. Just go. You need visibility for Lumiere anyway.

I didn’t respond after that, but her words stayed with me. They didn’t offer comfort; they offered cold, hard logic. It was something sharp and practical enough to hold me steady, so I chose to go.

The car came to a stop in front of the hotel. I stared at the grand entrance longer than necessary, my fingers tightening around the strap of my small bag. It wasn’t too late to turn back. It would be so incredibly easy.

But before I could make up my mind, the valet opened my door. “Good evening, Miss.”

And just like that, the moment of hesitation evaporated. I stepped out into the night.

The party wasn’t in a traditional ballroom; it was hosted at a rooftop restaurant at the very top of the building, twenty floors above the city. I arrived thirty minutes late—partly intentional, partly not. The elevator climbed slowly, entirely too slowly, as if it were deliberately giving me time to change my mind.

When the doors finally slid open, warmth spilled out immediately. Soft golden lights hung low between lush plants and neatly arranged tables around the rooftop, all facing the glowing, sprawling skyline of Windele at night. Jazz played quietly somewhere in the background, blending seamlessly into the ambient laughter and the sharp sound of clinking glasses.

The guest list couldn’t have been more than thirty or forty people. It was intimate and private, and somehow, I was included. That realization settled in strangely—not quite comforting, yet not entirely uncomfortable either. Just deeply, acutely aware.

“Ms. Adam!”

Nadine appeared before I could fully take it all in. She moved quickly, smiling brightly, her soft pink velvet dress trailing behind her like liquid light. Her wavy dark hair fell loosely over her shoulders, framing a face that looked effortlessly, radiantly happy.

“I thought you wouldn’t come.”

“Of course I came. Happy birthday, Ms. Rowe.” I handed her a small, neatly wrapped gift box.

She took it instantly, her face lighting up with delight. “Aww, you’re so thoughtful. Thank you!” And then, she threw her arms around me. It was a warm, uncomplicated hug, and I returned it a little awkwardly.

“Enjoy the party, okay?” she said as she pulled back. “Ezra is over there.”

Her hand pointed across the crowded rooftop to where a group of men stood near the glass edge, talking quietly. My stomach tightened instantly.

“I’ll ask him to keep you company,” she added before I could even attempt to respond.

“Ms. Rowe, that’s really not necess—”

But she was already gone, moving away with easy, enviable confidence, her dress flowing elegantly behind her as she crossed the rooftop toward him.

And then, Ezra turned.

Even from a distance, I felt the exact moment his attention shifted. Our eyes locked through the crowd—between the rising voices, the laughter, and the ambient glow of glass and gold light. Ezra Hale didn’t look warm, but he didn’t look cold either. There was absolutely no trace of the shattered man I had seen last night; no cracking, no breaking, no desperation.

There was only stillness. A controlled, carefully contained stillness, as if everything inside him had been locked away behind a wall I could no longer reach.