Page 1 of Years in the Making

PROLOGUE

December

Nellie

This is not me, I think as I pull Teddy’s mouth back to mine.I don’t make out with virtual strangers after ten minutes of knowing them, I scold myself, leaning in as his hand slides under my shirt to palm my breast.I certainly don’t make out with men in open areas where anyone can see us, I remind myself as I reach down and pull my sweater up and over my head, tossing it to the side.

Somehow, Teddy walking me out to my car has resulted in one hell of a make-out session. First against the door and now in my driver’s seat. I should be in it alone, already on the road. But he’s the one sitting while I’m straddling his lap, topless, breathless, and senseless.

What the actual fuck is happening right now?

Of course, Teddy is not exactly a stranger. I met him years ago, on a train, in another life. My mind keeps trying to pull me back there, but I’m desperate to keep it in the present. So I focus on where his body is pressed against mine. How hisbreath and mine seem one and the same, how his grip is like a vice, holding me as if he is afraid I’ll disappear again. But it wasn’t me who disappeared. One day he was there, and the next—poof, gone. I’d spent years acting out what I’d say to him if he ever walked back into my life, and then one day I just…stopped thinking about him. I let myself finally move on from the guy who won my heart only to smash it with two words and no further explanation.

Thiswas not a scenario I’d ever thought about. Not a single one involved his lips on mine, his teeth grazing my neck, his hand squeezing my breast, and his arousal blatantly pressed beneath me. When I rock my hips, he lets out a hiss and his hands move to my ass, driving me harder against him. The Teddy I knew over a decade ago was sweet and gentle, always the one to slow down the urgency that would build in us. This Teddy is desperate and a little rough. I tell myself I hate it, but the truth is, I fucking love it. More than that, Ineedit. I’ve spent twelve years hating this man and he has the nerve to walk back into my life and immediately get under my clothes.

“Goddammit, I missed you, LG,” he says breathlessly, and that’s it, that’s the cold bucket of water I needed ten minutes ago.

I pull back, untangle myself from him, grab my sweater from the passenger seat, and practically fall out of the car as I struggle to dress myself. When I look back, I know he knows what’s coming. He tips his head back against the headrest, trying to catch his breath.

“Yeah. That was—”

“Something that will never happen again,” I say with conviction.

He doesn’t respond right away, just watches me until the sadness from earlier replaces the hope in those pale blue eyesand he slides from the car.Yes, I think,it sucks, doesn’t it? This feeling of not being wanted.

I set my jaw and square my shoulders. “Nothing has changed, Teddy. You’re still the guy who made me fall for you that summer and then fucked off without so much as a goodbye, and I’m the girl who stupidly thought you’d come back to me.” I push past him to get behind the wheel, then grab his coat off the passenger seat and throw it at him. When I turn to face him again, his expression is void of emotion, void of the guy I used to know.

“Bye, Teddy.” I slam the door shut, put the car in reverse, and head towards home. Despite the urge, I manage to get to the main road without looking in my rearview mirror.

Twelve years, and the only guy I’ve ever loved shows up working for my best friend’s soulmate. And within minutes of seeing him again, he had the audacity to give me an explanation that would have saved me years of pain.

If I thought the universe had been looking out for me all those years ago on that train, then it was definitely fucking with me now.

ONE

NELLIE

12 Years Ago, April

I’ve made a terrible mistake,I think as yet another half-drunk person decked out in a baseball hat and jersey slams into my side. If I had bothered to use my brain, I’d have checked the baseball schedule before arranging a time for my parents to pick me up from the station. I can never remember how early in the year the season starts. Hell, I would have walked from Toronto all the way home. It would have taken me until tomorrow afternoon, but at least I wouldn’t have to deal with this buffoonery.

As the train pulls in, people ignore the yellow line on the edge of the platform. The yellow line you’re supposed to stay behind to lower your risk of dying by getting hit the very train you’re waiting to board.

People have now surrounded me, and my hope of securing a place to sit slips away. When the door opens, I’m jostled violently as people catch themselves on my backpack and kick my suitcase this way and that.

“Don’t mind me,” I call out. “I enjoy being invisible.” I’mhoping I sound as bitchy as I feel but probably not. I’ve been told that I’m too easygoing, and even when I’m miffed about something, it takes a great deal of effort to get my true feelings across. A chronic people-pleaser, that’s me.

I feel hands on my shoulders and immediately stop breathing, but those hands keep me in place as another person rams into me.

“Not invisible.” A voice comes from behind me. “Just too nice.” His hands leave my shoulders, and he steps to my right. I look over just in time for him to gesture towards the train. “After you.”

He steps on after me and is forced to stop just inside the door as I block the way forward. Sure enough, every seat is taken and three people are sitting on the stairs, blocking the way to the second level. It looks like I’ll be standing at the entrance for the next little while. I take a step to the side and pull my backpack to my front and my suitcase as close as possible, and let out a sigh as my back hits the flimsy train wall.

Mr. Chivalrous leans against the wall to my right on the other side of the door. He looks completely unbothered by the entire situation. His long legs are crossed at the ankles, and his attention is on his phone. I use his distraction as an opportunity to study him. He’s tall and lanky with dark brown hair that curls below the base of his cap. It’s hard to tell his age, but I’d guess somewhere around my own, early twenties. I’m staring at the crest on his jersey when I feel that telltale tingle of being watched. When I glance up I see that he’s looking back at me, eyebrows disappearing under the rim of his hat. I smile shyly and immediately look away, but not before he sees my entire face turn bright red.

We spend the rest of the time between leaving the station and the first stop, exchanging not-so-subtle glances. I catch him looking at the tattoo behind my right ear, and he catches mestaring at his hands. He has a ring on his one index finger, a thick silver band, and when he’s not texting, he’s spinning it with his thumb. I can almost feel those hands on my shoulders still. The comforting weight of them keeping me firmly in place while people pushed by. Then that voice, smooth and deep, letting me know that at least one person sees me

Right before the first stop is announced, people begin to gather at the door and block my view of my seatless buddy. The sudden disappointment at not being able to see him shocks me. Perhaps I just prefer looking at him to staring down at my feet or my reflection in the window across from me.

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