Then There Was You

Prologue

PRESENT DAY

KEATS MATTHEWS

The weather is as foul as my mood.

I should be home listening to the classics playing through a busted set of speakers, eating ravioli from a can, and wallowing in memories of better times, but Taylor insisted we meet tonight. Breaking my tradition should be a welcome reprieve. Instead, I’m left further annoyed.

It’s hot in here and surprisingly crowded, considering the holiday.

I expected to walk into a quiet place to talk, not a bar bustling with partiers.

Unwinding the wool from around my neck, I look around to see if I can spot Taylor, hoping a table has already been scored.

No such luck. None seems to be available either, so that leads me to wedge myself through the horde to order a beer.

One drink. Maybe two if things go well, and then I’ll return to my apartment to pick up where I left off before I got the call. I take a long pull from the bottle, then lean against the wide wooden top to wait.

“Keats?”

I glance back toward the entrance when I hear my name, but I don’t recognize anyone coming through the door.

“Keats?”

Looking toward the far side of the large room, I see Taylor waving an arm.

I nod and start across the room, slipping through a large group taking over the walk space, so I duck around a table.

Taylor throws her arms around my neck before I have time to right myself to my full height.

“We did it,” she says, holding me tight.

“Did wh—” My breath stops hard in my chest when my gaze lands on a pair of hazel eyes not five feet away from me.

Staring over Taylor’s shoulder, words are lost to thundering heartbeats as blood zips through my veins, making me feel alive for the first time in years.

The revelry muted, and Taylor is forgotten entirely, causing me to almost lose my grip on the beer.

Every thought and cell in my body is solely focused on her.

Her expression turns from confused to familiar. In her eyes, the browns shift to a brighter green, making me wonder if the past is playing out in her memory, as it is in mine.

The feel of the inlet from the waist to her hip.

Her uncontainable giggle when I told a bad joke in bed.

The freckle on her left hip bone.

For the first time in years, life comes rushing back. Heat colors my cheeks, and my fingers itch to hold her again. I lick my lips, then take a breath as my gaze shifts to the hand covering her perfectly bowed lips. And then I see it.

Emerald cut. Four carats or more, if I’m guessing.

On her left fucking hand.