Twenty Seven
One Moment In Time
AUSTIN
Three months later
THE LATE-AUTUMN AIR is sharp as I step out of the office, the cold biting through my coat. The sky is dark, the streetlights humming softly as they flicker to life.
April follows beside me, blonde hair catching in the breeze, and her heels click against the pavement. She’s smart, funny, sharp-witted in a way that keeps me on my toes. The kind of woman I should be interested in.
And yet, I’m not.
Sure, I’ve slept with a handful of women since Mia, but every time I do, I feel like I’ve cheated, which is ridiculous. I owe her nothing. We’re not together. She made that very clear when she walked away. Or pushed me away.
She glances up at me, her expression unreadable. “Fancy a drink, Austin?”
It’s casual. Offhand. But there’s something behind it—an invitation, an undercurrent.
I should say no. I know that immediately.
Three months. That’s how long it’s been. Ninety-three days, to be exact. Not that I’ve been counting. Not that I’ve let my mind wander back to a certain set of brown eyes, or the way she used to scrunch her nose when she was concentrating.
I clear my throat, shifting my laptop bag higher on my shoulder. “Uh, I don’t know, it's been a long day.”
April smiles, slow and knowing. “That is exactly why we should get a drink.” She reaches out, placing a hand on my upper arm. Light pressure. Just enough for me to feel the warmth of her touch through my coat. I don’t move away.
Callum would be thrilled. He’s been banging on about how I need to “get back out there.” As if dating is a sport I was momentarily benched from. As if all I need to do is stretch, jog a lap, and throw myself back into the game.
I glance at April, at the way she’s watching me, waiting. She’s beautiful. There’s no denying that. And she’s here. Present. Uncomplicated.
I could do this. I could let myself move forward.
“Yeah,” I say finally, nodding. “Alright. A drink sounds good.”
She smiles, pleased, and I tell myself that this is progress. That this is what moving on is supposed to look like.
April leads the way down the street, her stride confident, as if she knew I’d say yes. Maybe she did. Maybe I did, too.
We end up at a bar tucked just off Stonegate, all dim lighting and dark wood, the kind of place that feels intimate without trying too hard. A bartender nods in our direction as we slide into a booth near the back, away from the noise of the main bar.
April shrugs off her coat, revealing a silk blouse that catches the light in soft waves.
The top few buttons are undone, offering a deliberate glimpse of her lace bra beneath—an intentional move, no doubt.
She’s the kind of woman who always looks effortlessly put together—polished without being overdone.
“What’s your poison?” she asks, draping one arm over the back of the seat.
I should order something light, something that won’t make this feel like a real date. But instead, I say, “Whiskey.”
Her lips curve. “Straight?”
I nod, and she signals the bartender, who comes meandering over to our booth. “Whiskey, neat, and a gin and tonic for me, please.”
The bartender nods and skulks away.
The silence between us isn’t awkward, but it isn’t exactly comfortable either. It’s measured, like we’re both assessing where this is going, or what we want it to be.
The drinks arrive, and she lifts her glass. “To long days and good company.”
“Cheers.” I clink mine against hers, taking a sip, letting the burn of whiskey settle in my chest.
“So,” she says, swirling the ice in her drink, “you’ve been in York for a few months now, but I feel like I hardly know anything about you outside of work.”
I arch a brow. “I’m fairly certain you know all there is to know.”
She smirks. “Oh, I doubt that.”
The problem is, there’s not much left to know. Everything personal about me still circles back to one thing.
One person.
April leans forward slightly, her eyes warm. “What brought you here? Really.”
The question is simple, but it lands heavier than it should.
There’s the professional answer—the architecture project, the challenge, the new start.
And then there’s the real answer.
A woman. A mistake. A decision I made when I thought leaving was the only way to stop myself from waiting for something that was never coming back.
I exhale, running a hand along the edge of my glass. “Needed a change.”
She tilts her head, studying me, like she’s debating whether or not to push. “Fair enough.” She pauses, then takes a long slow sip of her drink. “Are you seeing anyone?” She asks, casually.
I fight back a laugh, choosing instead to savor another slow sip of my whiskey. “Nope.”
Her gaze lingers on me for a second longer than necessary. “Good to know.”
She’s flirting. It’s obvious.
It’s exactly what Callum would tell me to lean into.
So why do I feel like I’m standing at the edge of something, staring down, knowing if I take one step forward, there’s no turning back?
MIA
I SHOULDN’T BE HERE. I know that. Rational, level-headed Mia—the one who makes good decisions and thinks things through—knows that.
But she’s been missing in action for months now, drowned beneath the weight of regret, and the version of me standing outside Austin’s office is ruled by something entirely different. Desperation. Hope. And love.
Because I love him.
I love him so much that it physically hurts, and I can't live without him any longer.
Letting him go was a monumental mistake, and watching him leave and sell his flat was like tearing my own heart out and handing it to him in a to-go bag.
I told myself I was doing the right thing, that we needed space, but I was wrong.
So, so wrong. And now, standing here with my pulse hammering in my throat, I’m about to do what I should have done months ago: tell him.
The glass doors of the building slide open, and there he is.
Austin.
My breath catches, and for a second, I forget how to function.
I drink him in greedily, like a starved woman.
He looks good—too good. His hair is slightly tousled, his grey wool coat gives him that sexy masculine CEO look, and his stride is confident and assured.
My chest clenches painfully because, God, I’ve missed him.
I step forward, my heartbeat a frantic drum in my ears.
And then I see her.
She follows behind him, a blonde woman with long legs and a sleek coat, effortlessly put together in that way I never quite managed.
She says something, and he turns to look at her, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips—the kind that used to be reserved for me.
And then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, she reaches out and places a hand on his upper arm, her fingers curling around his bicep as she laughs at something he’s said.
I freeze.
No.
No, no, no.
This isn’t happening.
I stumble backward, pressing myself against the cold brick of a building as my vision blurs. My lungs tighten, and I feel like I’m suffocating, like someone has reached inside me and ripped my heart out all over again.
I should look away, I should leave, but I can’t. I watch, helpless, as they walk away together, their steps easy, familiar. He doesn’t shake her off. He doesn’t pull away.
I clamp a hand over my mouth, a strangled sound escaping me as tears spill freely down my cheeks.
He’s moved on.
He’s happy. Without me.
The pain is excruciating, an unbearable weight pressing down on my chest, and I suddenly feel like an idiot for coming here. For thinking, even for a second, that he might still want me. That I could show up, tell him I made a mistake, and he’d take me back.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold in the sobs that threaten to break me apart.
But it’s useless. The grief is overwhelming, a tidal wave of regret crashing down on me with brutal force.
I stand there for what feels like hours, but it’s only minutes, watching as the man I love disappears down a street with another woman.
And then, finally, I turn and walk away.
I don’t remember the walk back to my hotel.
One minute, I’m watching Austin disappear down the street with her, my heart crumpling in on itself like a burnt-out star.
The next, I’m stumbling through the hotel lobby, barely acknowledging the receptionist’s polite nod as I make a beeline for the lift.
My vision blurs, my chest is tight, and the moment the doors slide shut behind me, the first sob breaks free.
By the time I reach my room, I’m full-on ugly crying. The kind that makes my whole body shake, my throat ache, and my breaths come in gasps. My fingers tremble as I yank my phone from my bag, barely able to see the screen through my tears as I hit Charlotte’s name.
She answers on the second ring. “Hey, what’s—”
A strangled sob cuts her off.
“Mia?” Her voice sharpens. “What happened?”
I flop onto the bed, curling into myself. “He’s moved on,” I choke out. “I saw him, Char. He was with someone. She was touching him. I—” My voice cracks, and another wave of tears rushes forward.
Charlotte is silent for a moment, the kind of silence that feels heavy with thought. “Ok,” she says finally, her voice steady. “Let’s take a breath, alright? So you’re in York?”
I nod, then realise she can’t see me. “Yeah.”
“And you saw him with a woman. What exactly did you see?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. The image seared into my mind like a cruel brand. “She was following him out of his office. Talking to him. And then she put her hand on his arm, and he didn’t move away, and they walked off together. Like it was nothing.”
Charlotte exhales. “Mia, maybe it was nothing? That doesn’t mean he’s moved on. It could be a colleague. It could be someone he barely knows. You don’t have all the information.”
I let out a watery laugh. “You didn’t see them. She was gorgeous, Char. The kind of woman men fall over themselves for. The kind he used to bring back to his flat.”
She scoffs. “And? You’re gorgeous. Don’t make me start listing your redeeming qualities, because I sure as hell will.”