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5

Ophelia

His expression was priceless, and I couldn't have orchestrated it better. But, damn, I hadn't anticipated how good he would look up close.

"Holy shit indeed." I mirrored his expression, perfectly feigning my surprise. Being a hacker required being an actor, and over the years, I had become adept at both. "What are you doing here?"

He ran his hand through his jet black hair. When he smiled, dimples pressed against his cheek. His bright blue eyes absorbed me. "I was just having lunch."

With the mayor, but, of course, he left that part out.

"Sorry, this is just insane. What has it been like... ten years?"

I laughed. "A whole decade."

Scratching his chin, he chuckled, and the sound brought back memories of our time dating. It was a similar sound, but his laughter had been lighter back then, carrying less of the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Sure, I knew a bit about this version of Lorenzo, but just a glance provided several insights. His suit boasted a flawless tailor's touch, and his haircut clearly wasn't from a run-of-the-mill chain. Money was evident. The gold Rolex on his wrist hinted at substantial wealth. It wasn't entirely unexpected; Lorenzo's parents had always pushed him towards a lucrative career.

His grin was effortless. "Wow... and I mean wow. You look incredible."

"You're not half bad yourself." I added a wink for good measure. "Love your hair." I didn't bother concealing the subtle sarcasm in my tone.

"Oh, I knew you were going to say that." His laughter reverberated through his shoulders. "Guess I proved you wrong, huh? Didn't lose it after all."

I stood on my tiptoes, playfully ruffling the top of his hair, just as I did when we were kids. It was thick and soft, exactly as I remembered.

"Making sure they're not hair plugs, aren't you?"

My laughter was genuine; he'd always been funny, I'd give him that. "I guess you did prove me wrong, Mr. Kensington."

He grabbed his phone, pretending to record me. "Hold on, can I get that on video?"

I rolled my eyes and chuckled. "Oh, shut up. You're right, I'm wrong." Throwing up my arms, I met his gaze. "There, you happy?"

"I'd say so."

His smile was soft, content. I recognized that look. It was the exact same expression he gave me that day nearly ten years ago after Astronomy class. We'd been friends for a few months before then, and even though I was a freshman in college and he was a senior, I loved his company.

I had asked him if all aliens were called Martians or only those from Mars. He had laughed and given me a strange look, like he found my comment amusing, adorable even. Later, he told me it was the moment he realized he liked me as more than a friend.

Of course, he wasn't looking at me the same way now; it was just a shadow, my imagination filling in holes from the past. Discomfort stirred in my chest, and just as I was about to break his gaze, he reached out, his fingers grazing my arm. "Hey, what are you doing right now?"

Trying to get you to ask me to the mayor's ball this weekend, and you? I shrugged. "I'm actually off today. I didn't really have any plans."

"Oh, what do you do?"

Try not to get fired from my pathetic service industry job. When I hesitated, he must have noticed my discomfort.

"I'm sorry. Here I am, just bombarding you with questions when what I'm trying to say is...do you want to get a drink."

At 11:30 am? Is this what men with Rolexes struggled with? When to start drinking? I threw up my hands. "Fuck it. Why not?"

His eyes widened with his smile. "Great! I know an awesome little bistro that serves—"

My laughter silenced him in an instant. "What?"

"Lorenzo, I don't know what you've been doing for the last ten years, but I don't drink at bistros."

His cheeks flushed red, and then he smirked. "You got a better idea?"

Do I ever?

I'm not sure why I picked the most eccentric dive bar in town, but when we descended the stairs five blocks later, I couldn't hide the smile on my face. And I realized exactly why I picked it. I wanted Lorenzo to feel out of place.

The door appeared nondescript, resembling a cheap basement apartment, if not for the pulsating music that emanated from inside, causing the walls to vibrate. The red light from the overhead bulb illuminated the confusion on his face.

"This is where you want to go?"

I paused. "Do you have a better idea?"

He shrugged. "All right, kid. Let's do it."

Holding the door open for me, he loosened his suit collar and followed me inside. I'm not sure what he was expecting, but the expression on his face immediately revealed that it wasn't this.

A live band was in the midst of a set on the corner stage, and the dance floor was packed, couples swing dancing, others jumping up and down, singing to the eclectic music. It was one of the few bars in town that never closed, a speakeasy with no windows that blocked out all sunlight.

Leaning in, he placed his hand on my lower back, whispering in my ear, "I'll get us a drink."

"Mint—"

"—Julep." He grinned, completing my sentence with knowledge of my favorite drink. Shaking his head, he added, "Man, you haven't changed."

Standing on the dance floor, I observed him navigate through the crowd. Towering over everyone and dressed in a suit, he stood out. The song played on, and as the crowd embraced me, I spun around, raising my hands in the air and moving to the rhythm.

Damn. How long had it been since I last danced? With my eyes closed, the movements flowed effortlessly from me, and everything beyond this space faded away. Music always had this effect on me, but I didn't indulge in it enough.

On those rare occasions when I secured a babysitter for Cecilia, I didn't engage in activities like this. Typically, I'd go to an R-rated movie and sit in silence. I didn't have friends to go dancing with, and doing it alone felt awkward.

Yet, as I rocked to the music, a sudden question arose. Who was preventing me from doing this but myself?

I opened my eyes just as Lorenzo emerged in the crowd. His shoulders were tense, and his body seemed stiff as he navigated through the crowd. Handing me my drink, he smiled, but even his grin looked forced. "You look like a natural!" he called over the music.

"And you look uncomfortable!"

He sipped his whiskey and shook his head. "No, this is great." The sarcasm was thick, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Close your eyes."

His brow furrowed. "What?"

I smiled and stood on my tiptoes. "Do you trust me?" The question slipped out before I could stop myself.

It was the first thing Lorenzo had ever said to me. On my first day of college, this tall man had stopped me in the Promenade and asked me that very question when I was a frightened eighteen-year-old.

Across from me on the dance floor, Lorenzo grinned. "I don't even know you!"

That had been my response on our first day of meeting. And twenty-one-year-old him had told me to look at my feet. I'd had toilet paper on my shoes. He'd saved me from embarrassment on my first day of college, and that was how our friendship had started.

When we dated, it became our inside joke, something we always said to each other.

"Close your eyes," I repeated.

This time, he didn't hesitate. As his eyes shut, I placed his hands on my shoulders and lightly touched his waist. Unsure of what I was doing, something about it just felt so...natural.

"Just listen to the beat."

There were a few inches of space between us, but the touch was enough. As I swayed left, he moved with me. When I turned, he followed. Five steps across the floor, and I saw the moment he felt the music. The wrinkles in his forehead softened, his mouth relaxed, and his shoulders slumped.

He tossed his head back, and the laugh that escaped him was easy. Just as I remembered it. But he caught himself, his voice choking, like the sound surprised him.

He didn't laugh often, did he?

However, he continued to keep his eyes closed, and with the change in beat, his hands glided across my shoulders, moving toward my back. I tensed, his touch somehow both familiar and foreign. Yet, as his arms wrapped around my back, the swing of the music enveloped me, and I relaxed as he drew me against his chest. The space between us vanished, and my hands slid past his waist, linking behind his back.

My heartbeat echoed in my throat. The music started to slow, and so did our pace. I looked up at him just as he opened his eyes, meeting my gaze. Our faces were mere inches apart.

Did his lips feel the same as they had back then? His kiss as tender?

The song concluded with a tremor of drums, and the atmosphere between us shifted. The lights flickered on, flooding the space and dispelling the enchantment of anonymity that the music had brought.

It was barely noon, and I was dancing in a bar with my ex-boyfriend—more than just dancing, I was contemplating kissing him. I had veered away from my initial goal of manipulating him to assist me on a job.

What was I doing?

As the crowd applauded the band around us, I withdrew my hands from his hips, and Lorenzo mirrored my movements, the tension akin to pulling two magnets apart.

We joined in on the applause, but as the crowd began to disperse, an awkwardness that hadn't existed before lingered between us.

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