Page 47 of It's Only Ever Been You

The drive to the jeweler is uneventful, but my mind’s anything but calm. The streets blur past as I wrestle with the one thought I can’t seem to shake: What the hell am I going to say to her?

The last time Emma and I spoke, it felt like we were standing on opposite sides of a canyon, neither of us brave enough to take the first step across. She let things drift, pulling back little by little, and I told myself it was for the best. That she was doing what she needed to, and maybe I needed it too. But now, all these years later, I wonder if I was just a coward—letting her go because chasing after her, fighting for us, would’ve meant admitting just how much she meant to me. And I wasn’t ready for that.

I pull into a parking spot and kill the engine, taking a moment to collect myself. The jeweler’s shop is small and tucked away on a quiet street. I step inside, the little bell above the door chiming softly, and a man behind the counter greets me with a polite smile.

“Picking up or dropping off?” he asks.

“Picking up,” I reply, clearing my throat. “Cufflinks for Jace Prescott.”

He nods, disappearing into the back room. As I wait, I glance around the shop. It’s all polished glass cases and soft lighting, the kind of place that feels too pristine to breathe in. My eyes land on a display of engagement rings near the register, and my chest tightens.

The thought of Emma wearing one—of someone else putting it there—sends a jolt of something sharp and ugly through me. I push the thought away, shaking my head like that’ll somehow knock it loose.

The jeweler returns with a small velvet box and hands it over. “Here you go. All set.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, sliding the box into my pocket. I leave a generous tip and head out, the bell chiming again as the door swings shut behind me.

Back in the car, I sit there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel. My phone buzzes in the cup holder, and I glance down to see another text from Jace.

Jace: Almost forgot—rehearsal dinner’s at 6 on Friday and the bachelor party is on Thursday at 8. Don’t be late.

Me: Got it.

Jace: You good? You’ve been kind of quiet lately.

I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Jace and I have always been close, but this isn’tsomething I can just unload on him—not when he’s about to marry Sierra, not when he’s got his own shit to focus on.

Me: Yeah, just busy. See you Thursday.

I toss my phone aside and start the car, pulling out onto the road. My hands tighten on the wheel as I replay his text in my head. You good? It’s such a simple question, but it’s one I don’t have an easy answer to.

Because the truth is, I’m not good. I’m not sure I’ve been good since the day I let Emma slip through my fingers.

Back at the hotel, I toss my keys onto the desk and kick off my shoes, the silence of the room pressing in on me. I pour a glass of water from the bar, but as I lean against the counter, my mind goes straight to Emma—again. It’s been like this all day, and now, with no distractions, there’s nothing to stop the flood of memories.

I can still see her as clearly as if she were right in front of me—the way her lips curved when she smiled, the way her laugh always seemed to echo in my chest. And now, imagining her as she is now, older, more confident, with that same sharp wit that always left me in awe, something stirs deep in my gut.

I sit on the edge of the bed, running a hand through my hair. I know I shouldn’t, but my fingers move on their own, unlocking my phone and pulling up her Instagram.Her latest photo loads—a shot of her in a sundress, the sunlight catching the golden highlights in her hair. She’s laughing at something off-camera, and the way her lips part, the light in her eyes—it’s enough to make my throat go dry.

Fuck. I shouldn’t be doing this. But I can’t stop myself.

I picture her here, standing in front of me, that same teasing smile on her lips. My hand tightens around the phone, and I set it down, my breathing uneven as the image shifts in my mind. She’s closer now, her fingers trailing down my chest, her lips curving into that smirk that’s always driven me insane.

My chest tightens as I lean back, closing my eyes and letting the fantasy take over. I imagine her pushing me back onto the bed, her knees on either side of me, her hands sliding under my shirt as she whispers my name in that breathless way I’ve dreamed about too many times to count.

“Ethan,” she’d say, her voice low, teasing. “You’re always so in control. Let me see what happens when you’re not.”

A low groan escapes me as my hand drifts lower, my body reacting to the vivid image of her—the way her body would feel pressed against mine, the soft gasp she’d make when I gripped her hips, holding her exactly where I wanted her. In my mind, I pull her closer, my voice rough as I murmur againsther ear, “You’ve got no idea how badly I’ve wanted this,” I growl, my voice low and rough. “Every fucking inch of you—your mouth, your skin, those noises you make when you’re close. I’ve been losing my mind thinking about how good you’d feel wrapped around me.”

I shift on the bed, the pressure building as my fingers press into the mattress, the urge to touch myself almost unbearable. But it’s not enough—I want her. I want to feel her skin under my hands, hear her moan my name, watch her fall apart because of me.

“Fuck,” I mutter, sitting up and gripping the back of my neck, trying to shake the heat coursing through me. My body is tense, every nerve alive, and it takes everything in me not to give in completely. I’m so fucking hard right now it’s painful. Instead, I pace the room, trying to burn off the energy, but the fantasy lingers, her voice echoing in my head, her image seared into my mind.

It’s nearly impossible to sleep after that. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, my chest heaving as I fight the pull of her memory. Every time I close my eyes, she’s there, and the ache in my chest—and lower—is a reminder of just how much I’ve been holding back.

And the worst part? This is just the beginning. Seeing her in person is going to wreck me.

I must have fallen asleep because the daydream shifts, and I’m standing alone in the empty room,her laughter echoing in the distance. I wake up with a start, my chest tight and my pulse racing.

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