Page 6 of Time After Time
Sliding off my gloves, I wiped the sweat from my brow, only to feel even grosser as it smeared onto the back of my hand. Then a sudden sound made me pause. Turning toward the shade, I spotted Mr. Whiskers sprawled out lazily, his tail flicking ashe gnawed on chicory flowers. His soft purring stood in sharp contrast to the scattered mess of shredded petals around him.
“Behave!” I called, pointing a finger at him. “Remember the stomachache you had last time!”
He met my warning with a glint of defiance, his eyes fixed on the chicory flowers. I wagged a finger at him, the gesture sharp and intentional.
“No cuddles from me tonight if your tummy acts up!”
My threat didn’t faze him. With a sigh, I made my way down the metal stairs, each step echoing with a rhythmicclink.
The basket rested snugly against my waist as I held the gloves in one hand and gripped the metal railing with the other. The scorching sun heated the railing so much that it burned my palm, making me yelp in surprise. Sweat dripped down my face, and all I could think about was a cold shower.
Gosh, I couldn’t wait for it.
When I finally stepped under the cool water, my body felt weightless, the heat and sweat from the day, along with the remnants of my nightmare, melting away. The tension in my shoulders eased, and they dropped naturally, no longer hunched or held tight. For the first time in a while, they settled comfortably.
Once I was dry, I reached for one of my favourite bikinis—a navy blue set decorated with delicate white flowers that seemed to flutter across the fabric. The deep blue complemented my sun-kissed skin perfectly. To finish the look, I added a sleeveless white tank top and a flowing azure skirt that cascaded like a waterfall.
My damp hair refused to cooperate, staying stubbornly tousled despite my efforts with a wide-tooth comb. The moisture would inevitably seep into the back of my top and part of my skirt, leaving small, clingy patches. But I didn’t care. Using a hairdryer seemed downright laughable in this intense heat.
In the rush of showering, dressing, and hastily applying sun cream and concealer, I hadn’t noticed Mr. Whiskers was missing from my room. Usually, he’d stroll in without a care, claiming his space with ease. But then I heard my mum’s unmistakable laughter drift up from downstairs, making me freeze mid-motion. I strained to catch any other voices that might explain her amusement, but there was nothing else. With Dad gone until lunchtime and my sister having dropped me off before going out with her friends, the source of Mum’s laughter could only be one person.
Suddenly, one name flashed into my mind.
The mere thought brought tears to my eyes, and my hands trembled. For a moment, I considered sitting down in my desk chair to compose myself as the tremors spread to my legs. But then, a rush of exhilaration surged through me, like the feeling you get after facing something you were terrified of, making me grin almost foolishly. Ignoring my unsteady legs, I pushed forward and glanced at the clock one last time—12:12—before hurrying down the stairs.
With each step, the sounds grew clearer, and any doubt about the identity of the voice melted away. There was only one person it could be.
Him.
Sebastian Ventura. The one person who had been my best friend for as long as I could remember.
My gaze swept over him, trying to take in every detail, but as usual, he spotted me before I had a chance to fully take him in.
Perched on a barstool, he shifted the moment he sensed my presence. His eyes lit up, and while my mum was speaking to him, not wanting to be disrespectful, he nodded along to what she was saying. But the right corner of his lip quivered upward, and his eyes kept darting to me every couple of seconds. Whenmy mum finished, he pushed himself off the stool and stepped closer, his hands slipping into the pockets of his shorts.
“You took your time this morning, Wheels,” he said, his voice carrying its usual soothing tone.
Sebastian’s way of speaking was always calm and pleasant. In all the years we’d known each other, I couldn’t recall him ever raising his voice. Whenever he was frustrated or angry—which wasn’t often—he would close his eyes, take a deep breath, and continue speaking in a way that, whether you wanted it or not, would soothe you.
“Did you happen to forget I was coming back today?” His tone was teasing. His absence had only been a few days. A brief trip to visit his grandparents and pick up a certificate from a course he’d taken months ago, but those few days had felt like an eternity. I had missed him more than usual, especially after that unsettling dream. The Geneviève from that time had been feeling something I’d never experienced before. The ache in her chest had been so intense that I had to fight the urge to scratch it obsessively, as if trying to carve the pain out.
Needing to be close to him, I didn’t say a word. I leaped into his arms, and with a surprised huff, he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me up and closer. The familiar strength of his hold eased something tight in my chest, and I let my arms fall around his shoulders, resting there as if they belonged.
“I’ve missed you,” I whispered, the tremor in my voice betraying the flood of emotions I barely held in check.
His response was immediate, lifting me off the ground and leaving me suspended in his hold, yet always secure. Despite being fairly tall at 5’7’’, Sebastian’s height far surpassed mine, allowing him to lift me effortlessly. He swayed us from side to side, the motion almost silent except for his soft humming, his chest vibrating against mine. The sound lulled me, and before I knew it, my eyes fluttered shut.
I caught the faint scent of sea salt and apricots, carried on skin warmed by the sun—sweet, salty, and unmistakably his.
A few minutes later, I found my footing again, and as he set me down, I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes locked onto mine, deep chocolate brown with flecks of gold swirling within them like molten amber.
Sebastian’s golden curls had grown longer at the back, the sun lightening the tips to a sandy blonde. His skin had taken on a rich tan, the kind you get from spending too much time in the sun. Despite my constant reminders to use sunscreen, he’d just laugh and talk about how much he liked the freckles that dotted his nose and shoulders, which always set me off into a rant about skin damage.
Meeting his gaze, I realised I might have been staring too long. “Everything okay?” he asked, his smile faltering for a second as he tilted his head, his eyes searching my face. His fingers tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, something he did often. I noticed the slight gap between his front teeth, something he was self-conscious about, but to me, it only made him morehim.
I had been so focused on his return that I hadn’t noticed my mum had slipped away. Glancing to my right, I saw the spot where she had been was now empty. When I turned back to Sebastian, his eyes were already on me, focused and waiting. “Back to our summer routine?” he asked, tilting his head toward the kitchen aisle. Following his gaze, I spotted a basket beside a bag of apricots, most likely left by my mum for him to take home. He was obsessed with them.
Excitement bubbled up inside me, nearly bursting into a squeal. “What did you bake today?” I asked, biting my lower lip to stop myself from drooling at the thought of what might be inside that basket.
