Page 35 of Falling For Us Again

"Hello Jenna, it's been a while," he says, smiling warmly and extending his hands for a handshake.

"Ian, hi. It’s been a while indeed."

“I’m kind of surprised you remember me. You never paid me any attention in high school. I hear you’re a famous author now.”

“Oh well,” I say with a small smile. "How have you been?"

"Great. This is my wife, Emily," he makes an introduction. Emily extends her hand, her eyes bright with excitement.

“Please, don’t mind my husband. That’s how he jokes.” The woman beside him says. “I’m so pleased to meet you. I’m a huge fan, and I’m very sure I’ve read all your books.”

“Nice to meet you as well.” I smile sweetly at her. “Also, that’s very kind of you to say.”

We sit at a table and chat for a while, and I find myself thoroughly enjoying their company. Emily’s enthusiasm for my work is heartwarming, and Ian’s easygoing nature makes for easy conversation.

"Your books have gotten me through some tough times," Emily confesses. "I always feel so connected to your characters."

“Honestly, I don't know if I should be scared of my wife saying this because your books are some of the darkest I’ve ever read,” Ian says, turning to his wife. Honey, what do you mean you feel connected to the characters? Should I be concerned?”

I laugh at that, and Emily nudges him with a hand.

“Again, don't mind him. He doesn't understand the importance of escapism and how excellent you are at it.”

Her words touch me deeply. "Thank you, Emily. That’s the best compliment I could ever receive."

I know the second Dylan walks in. My eyes are drawn to the door as if pulled by a magnetic force. I feel his presence even before I see him. He walks in with Maggie, laughing. His laugh is rich, deep, and genuine. It’s been a while since I’ve heard that laugh.

I feel a twinge of jealousy at their closeness. It reminds me of a time when Dylan and I used to be close, and he’d look at me with that same lightness in his eyes, laughing at every joke I made. A knot forms in my stomach.

We haven’t seen each other since that Saturday at my house.

I’ll never forget the way he’d set my body on fire. I blush remembering how I was so out of my mind with pleasure, I’d literally begged him to take me.

He has ruined me for anyone else. There’s never going to be another man that could ever make me feel the way he does.

When I woke up the next morning, he was gone. It was a reminder that to him it was nothing more than sex. He’d probably gone back home to Maggie or whoever he was seeing, and when I sell the house, I’ll go back to LA as well.

I feel a strong sense of resentment for the way I’m immediately attracted to him. Just his mere presence in the room, and all my thoughts become centered on him. I’m acutely aware of him as he makes his way through the room.

I try to focus on the conversation at my table, but it’s no use. Dylan has stolen my attention. His eyes scan the crowd until they land on me. For a moment, our gazes lock, and everything else fades away. I quickly look away, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Jenna, are you okay?” Emily asks, noticing my distraction.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I reply, forcing a smile. “Just a little tired.”

“What are you drawing, Picasso?” I tease her, nudging her with a shoulder. Her canvas is a swirl of colors so far.

“Oh, you’ll see, Da Vinci. I intend to paint a melancholy period piece that speaks to the subtlety of life.”

I laugh. “Well, at least I’ll be able to say that I saw a profound piece of art in my lifetime.”

We turn our attention back to our canvases. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dylan and Maggie heading toward the makeshift bar set up in the corner, where Lola is pouring glasses of wine and chatting with participants.

Maggie pats him on the back before going to take a seat, leaving Dylan alone. He grabs a drink for both of them and chats briefly with Lola, his eyes flickering to me as they talk. I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.

Is he as affected by our night together as I am? Did it mean anything to him, or was I just another woman in his bed?

I straighten my shoulders, forcing myself to focus on painting. For a moment, I lose myself in the colors and the strokes, letting the world around me fade away. The chatter blending with the faint clink of glasses and the swish of brushes against canvas.

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