Page 32 of Rematch
Regardless, he stood there for a full minute, tempted to cross the street and peer in the window. It was a stupid whim but a powerful one. After all, what would it hurt to take a closer look? It wasn’t like he could obsess over the one who got away any more than he already did.
Given it was nearly nine on a weekday, there were a fair amount of people walking around, all of them with their heads down, dashing off to their nine-to-fives. There was quite a bit of traffic as well, as a steady stream of commuters drove to work, which meant that as he stepped to the end of the curb to cross, he was forced to wait.
Then he remained where he was when he saw a tall man in an expensive suit stop in front of the bakery window, waving to someone inside.
It wasn’t until Preston saw her step outside that he realized he’d been holding his breath.
Chelsea.
It was his Chelsea.
His Joy.
Here in Baltimore.
Preston froze, blinking rapidly, convinced he was seeing things. Perhaps today was the day he finally went around the bend, losing his mind once and for all.
It didn’t make sense for her to be here, and yet…
She smiled as she approached the man. Even from across the street, he could see the smile was somewhat forced, not the genuine, easygoing ones she’d given him.
Preston couldn’t hear what Chelsea and the man were saying as he was too far away, and there was too much noise from the foot and vehicle traffic. He also couldn’t beat back the sudden rush of jealousy as the man bent toward her, cutting the personal space between them in half. This didn’t feel like a polite conversation between acquaintances. They were too familiar with each other, the man too friendly.
Preston had wished for an entire year that he could see Chelsea again, and now here she was, less than thirty feet from him, and he couldn’t make himself move, too many questions holding him back.
Why wasn’t she in Paris?
When had she moved to Baltimore from Philadelphia?
Who was this man?
Why was he standing so close to her?
Full-blown envy erupted when the man reached out, tucking one of Chelsea’s curls behind her ear, the action too intimate for Preston’s peace of mind.
Unfortunately, it was only the man’s face Preston could see clearly, Chelsea turned at an angle so that he only caught the occasional glimpse of her profile. As such, he couldn’t see how she was looking at the man.
Was she in love with him?
Were they a couple?
That idea hit hard, and as much as he hated to acknowledge it, it hurt. Bad.
Chelsea lifted one arm, pointing to something inside the bakery as she and the man continued to speak. Preston drank in the sight of her because, holy fuck, the past year had been good to her. Her hair was longer, her curves curvier, her hips wider, her breasts larger, and that ass. Fuck, he loved her ass.
She was a living, breathing goddess, and the woman who’d invaded every single one of his dreams since the night they’d met.
And here he stood, immobile, unable to make himself approach her.
Not just because of the other man.
What if Chelsea didn’t remember who he was?
What if he’d been the only one to build that night up into something magical and unforgettable and perfect?
He mentally cursed at himself and took a step off the curb, refusing to be a goddamn coward.
However, he didn’t take another when the man leaned forward and kissed Chelsea.
