You weren’t expecting to see him tonight.

You almost didn’t come at all. Too much work. Too many memories. But your homegirl insisted — “grown folks, good energy, real R&B, come through and stop being a hermit.”

And now here you are, standing in the kitchen with a half-empty wine glass, laughing at someone’s story — until your breath catches, just for a second.

Keith.

Looking better than he has any right to. Fresh fade, calm smile, that quiet presence that used to undo you without trying. And he sees you, too — of course he does. Like no one else is in the room.

He crosses the space slowly, not assuming, just... showing up.

“Hey.”

You nod, keep your cool. “Hey.”

It’s been what? Three years? Since the night things exploded — career schedules, pride, all that “right person, wrong time” energy that used to sting like hell.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he says.

You sip your wine, eyes not quite meeting his. “Didn’t know if I should come.”

His smile fades just a little. “But you did.”

And then the DJ, like the universe is playing games, throws on “U Send Me Swingin’.”

You both freeze for a beat.

“That song,” he murmurs.

You glance at him, a soft ache forming in your chest. “Used to be ours.”

He nods, steps closer, voice low. “Still is. If you let it be.”

You should walk away. But instead, you stay. Let him hold your hand. Let him pull you into the living room where a few couples are already slow dancing.

Your bodies remember — the way you used to move together, slow and easy, like you were made for the same tempo. His hand finds the small of your back like it never forgot. And when the chorus hits, you’re not just swaying — you’re unraveling.

He leans in, whispers by your ear: “I never stopped wanting you. I just didn’t know how to hold you back then. But I do now.”

Your fingers tighten on his shirt.

And just like that, the past starts to feel like prelude — not ending.