As you stepped into the hotel that morning, your mind was completely elsewhere. The presentation for the new client was in just a few hours, your team was on edge, and you had barely slept. You ran a hand through your hair as you approached the reception desk to check in.
“Welcome to the Westwood Hotel. Under what name is your reservation?”
“[y/n].”
The receptionist typed in the name, nodded, and reached for a key card. “Room 312. Breakfast starts at seven.”
You took the card, murmured a quick thank you, and turned—straight into someone. You stumbled back, instinctively raising your hands to apologize.
“Sorry, I didn’t—” Your voice caught in your throat.
So did his.
Brown eyes you knew far too well. A face that had barely changed, except for a few faint laugh lines near his mouth. And that tiny hesitation as he recognized you—just like before.
“[y/n]?” His voice was barely a whisper.
You swallowed. Your heart pounded.
“Jake.”
Ten years. Ten damn years. And yet, it felt like yesterday.