Val

July 28, 2018

Belle Ballroom, SW Marriot Hotel have never seen Monica so happy. Her smile is so wide, and it makes me tear up. My best friend is getting married.

We’ve been inseparable since college—me, the nerd, and her, the wild party girl. She taught me how to loosen up and live, and I kept her grounded enough not to self-destruct. I’ve bailed her out of more than a few disasters, like the time she switched the sugar and salt in Professor Anders’s coffee. He was crankier than usual for a week.

Seeing her now, in full makeup, glowing in white silk, nearly breaks me.

“Please don’t tell me you’re crying,” Monica teases, catching me off guard.

“Nope,” I sniff, smiling. “Just admiring how your dress fits. All those workouts paid off.”

She laughs, nerves sparking through the sound. “Two months of hell. Worth it though.”

“Are you nervous to see Steve in a tux?” I ask.

“I’ve seen him in plenty of suits,” she says, her eyes softening. “But the thought of him waiting for me in that tux… yeah, my stomach flips.”

Monica’s been with Steve since high school. He’s her one and only, the safe harbor she never doubted. The way she talks about him makes me ache for something I’m not sure I’ll ever have.

Her mom, Mary, bustles in then, glowing with pride. “Don’t make the bride ridiculous on her big day, Val.”

“Not my fault she once thought salt was sugar,” I tease.

Mary laughs, dabbing her eyes. She takes Monica’s hand, ready to lead her down the aisle, when Monica stops.

“Wait. Val, here.” She presses a hotel room key into my palm. “Just in case you’re too tired to drive later. Promise me you’ll use it if you need to.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I insist.” She winks, then squeezes Mary’s hand and heads toward her future.

By the time the priest announces, “You may kiss the bride,” I’m a mess. My mascara wasn’t cheap, but it betrays me as tears spill anyway. Steve’s eyes shine when he looks at Monica, and the love between them nearly crushes me. I’ve never had anyone look at me that way

\~\~\~

At the reception, I found myself seated next to a stranger with light brown hair and storm-grey eyes. He offered me a polite smile, the kind that lingered a second too long.

When the bruschetta arrived, I nearly moaned at the first bite. My stomach had been empty since last night’s breakup with a man who had specialized in tearing me down piece by piece.

The stranger chuckled. “You look like you’ve just discovered religion.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “It’s amazing,” I admitted, mouth still half-full.

“Take mine too, if you want.”

I shook my head quickly, swallowing. “No, no. I’m Valerie. Just call me Val.”

“Chris,” he said, extending a hand. Then with a crooked grin: “Hello, Just Val.”

I shot him a glare, but his laughter was warm, unguarded. “Relax. I was joking. You’re cute, by the way.”

Cute. With watery eyes, greasy lips, and a body I’d spent years being told wasn’t enough? He had to be kidding.

Before I could respond, Monica and Mary appeared. Mary’s sharp gaze landed on me. “Val, where’s Andrew? Didn’t he come?”

Heat spiked in my chest. I froze, but Monica cut in. “He’s gone, Mom. Didn’t even bother to treat Val right.” Her tone was edged with steel.

Mary softened, squeezing my shoulder. “His loss, sweetheart. Better men are out there.” Her eyes flicked, not so subtly, toward Chris.

He gave a courteous smile, but Monica leaned down to whisper in my ear. “He was one of Mom’s favorite students. Now he’s teaching at some university. Total catch.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I muttered.

She winked, already drifting away.

Chris and I locked eyes, and then we both broke into laughter. Somehow, conversation flowed easily, like we’d known each other longer than a few stolen minutes.

“So, Econ professor, huh?” I teased when he mentioned teaching. “If I were still in school, you’d probably be grading my papers.”

“Maybe,” he said, sipping his drink. “But I stopped at Stanley a few months ago. I’m heading to UPenn tomorrow. First day.”

My jaw dropped. “Okay there, Ivy League professor.” I gave him a mock salute.

He laughed, the sound low and warm. “Don’t professor me. Tonight I’m just a guy, and I say we should be on that dance floor.”

“No way. I can’t dance. My body’s stiff, and I’ve got two left feet.”

“Then follow my lead,” he said, tugging me toward the music. His hand closed around mine, and something fluttered in my stomach.

Chris moved easily, confident in the rhythm, while I stumbled awkwardly at first. “Loosen up a little, Val,” he coaxed, twirling me until I laughed in spite of myself.

“That’s it,” he said approvingly, drawing me closer.

Song after song blurred together. By the time we stepped off the floor, flushed and breathless, he was grinning like we shared a secret.

“You’re not stiff at all. You were beautiful out there.”

The compliment hit deeper than I expected. “My ex always said that was why he never took me dancing.”

Chris’s expression hardened. “Sounds like a jerk.”

“He was.”

“Mary’s right, you know? He’s missing out on an amazing woman.”

The words stunned me into silence. Before I could respond, he leaned closer, eyes on mine, then on my mouth. The world seemed to hush around us as we closed the space.

The kiss was soft, tentative, and yet the cheers from the surrounding tables made my face burn. Embarrassed, I hid my face against his shoulder, but he only held me closer, smiling like he’d won something.

\~\~\~

Later, unsteady from champagne, I used Monica’s key to find the room she’d pressed into my hand earlier. Chris was walking the same way, jacket draped over his arm.

“Where are you headed?” I asked.

“Couple of hours of sleep before the long drive to UPenn tomorrow. If the hotel still has a room for me.”

I hesitated, then held up my key. “If it’s just a few hours… maybe you should crash in mine. Monica gave it to me anyway. You can take the couch.”

His mouth curved into a mischievous grin. “Are you inviting me to your bed, Ms. Val? Didn’t take you for the naughty type.”

Heat shot straight to my cheeks. “Forget I said anything,” I joked, turning to walk away.

But Chris caught my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Too late.” His voice dropped, teasing but heavy enough to make my pulse skip. “Let’s go.”

The elevator ride felt endless. We didn’t say a word, just stole glances and stifled nervous smiles, each second thick with something unsaid. By the time the doors slid open and we stepped into the quiet hallway, my heart was pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

And when I slipped the key into the lock, I realized I wasn’t just letting him into the room. I was letting him into something I didn’t fully understand yet—something dangerous, reckless, and impossible to resist.

Val

The door clicked shut, and the silence between us shifted. Heavy. Charged. One bed. No couch. No safe distance.

“I’ll take the floor,” Chris said, though the curve of his mouth betrayed the lie.

I swallowed. “We’re adults. We can share.”

“Adults,” he echoed, stepping closer, voice dropping low. “And adults can do whatever they want.”

Something in me trembled. I should’ve laughed, brushed it off. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. His eyes pulled me in, reckless and unrelenting.

The space between us snapped. His mouth crashed into mine—hungry, demanding, like years of restraint breaking all at once. I melted against him, gasping as his hands gripped me close, pulling me into the hard lines of his body.

“God, Val…” he murmured against my skin, his lips trailing fire along my jaw. “Tell me what you want. Don’t make me guess.”

The answer tore free before I could think. “I want you.”

Something dangerous and tender flickered in his eyes. He kissed me again, slower this time, deeper, as if trying to memorize the taste of me. My dress suddenly felt unbearable, his shirt too much of a barrier, but neither of us rushed. Every touch, every stolen breath, was a battle between restraint and surrender.

His forehead rested against mine, both of us shaking with the weight of it. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered.

“Then don’t wait,” I breathed.

He laughed softly, almost broken, before gathering me into his arms. The world blurred as he lowered me back onto the bed, his body anchoring me, surrounding me. The kisses grew messier, our laughter dissolving into quiet gasps.

And when the rest of the night unfolded—slow, urgent, inevitable—it was less about heat and more about finally finding home in each other.

\~\~\~

We were still tangled in the sheets when Chris brushed his hand along my arm, gently waking me. His grey eyes found mine in the dim light, soft and unguarded.

“Thank you for tonight, Val,” he murmured. “Meeting you was unexpected… and the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”

My heart stuttered. “Can we—do you want to keep in touch? After this?”

“I’d love nothing more.” A grin tugged at his mouth. “Now hand over your phone.”

I slipped from his arms, gathered my scattered things, and passed it to him. He dialed; a second later, his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

“There,” he said, showing the screen. “That’s me. Call or text anytime. And if you don’t, I might just annoy you until you do.”

I laughed, a little breathless. The room felt lighter—like possibility.

He pulled me in for one more kiss, slow and lingering, then rested his forehead to mine. “Soon,” he promised.

We traded reluctant hugs while he dressed. At the door, he glanced back, eyes warm. “See you soon, Valerie.” He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead and slipped out.

I sank onto the bed, grinning into the pillow the moment the latch clicked. My legs were still unsteady, my pulse refusing to settle. Every kiss replayed in my head like a secret I couldn’t stop touching.

God. I couldn’t wait for more.

\~\~\~

For days after that night, I floated. My knees still weakened at the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he whispered my name like it meant something. I thought it was the beginning of something real.

I texted him.

I called.

At first, I told myself stories—he’d lost his phone, changed his number, gotten swamped with work at UPenn. Maybe he was waiting until he settled in to call me properly. But days became weeks, weeks blurred into months and every unanswered message chipped away at my excuses.

No replies.

No explanation.

Like he didn’t exist.

Eventually, I had to face the truth. As perfect as it was, that night had been nothing more than a one-night stand.

\~\~\~

The years blurred. I buried myself in work, taking courses, drowned myself at baking, and eventually teaching economics at a local high school. My mother never missed a chance to remind me that I was “wasting” my degree, that I’d failed by not landing a university job or a respectable title. She made me feel small every time we spoke.

But Heartfelt High wasn’t so bad. The students made me laugh. I watched young love bloom in messy, dramatic ways—first crushes, first heartbreaks, the kind of reckless emotions I remembered too well. Sometimes I caught myself aching for that innocence again, when love hadn’t yet disappointed me.

Still, seven years slipped by, and with each passing one, the dream of something bigger felt further away, the only one who keep me sane is baking, and bring them to the class next morning. Kids love them, and seeing them always waiting for another best thing i made for them, trully warm my heart.

One day, Mary called. Monica’s mother, who had always felt more like a mom to me than my own.

“Hello, sweetie. How’s teaching?” she asked warmly.

“The usual,” I said, smiling into the phone.

She never let me wallow. “Well, listen. There’s an open teaching position at Heartfelt University. And I want you to apply.”

“Are you sure?” My stomach twisted.

“So sure,” she insisted. “You’ve got the degree, the experience. It’s time you stopped hiding in high school. I’ll send you the details. Promise me you’ll apply.”

I promised.

Heartfelt University wasn’t UPenn or Harvard, but its business and economics program carried real weight. And Mary—who had devoted nearly her whole life to this place—believed in me more than I’d ever managed to believe in myself.

That night, I sat at my desk with trembling hands, polishing my long-awaited resume. Every line felt like it carried the weight of years of effort, years of doubt, years of waiting for something more.

Was this it?

Could the dream I’d held onto for so long finally be within reach?

\~\~\~

The first interview went smoother than I expected. The committee smiled at my answers, nodded at my experience. For once, I walked out feeling like maybe I belonged.

The second was different. More important. This one was with the Head of the Business and Economics Department.

I scanned the document again. Professor Christopher Cornell.

The name twisted something in my chest. I thought of another Chris—the one who’d left me aching, ghosted me without a word. I almost laughed at the coincidence. Surely not him. Surely the world wasn’t that cruel.

“Ms. Valeria Rowan,” the secretary called, ushering me inside.

I stepped into the office. A man sat behind the desk, formal in a grey shirt and tie, brown hair neatly combed. He looked up.

Grey eyes.

My stomach dropped.

It was him.

Christopher Cornell.

Chris.

The very same man who had kissed me breathless and promised I’d never forget him—only to vanish for seven years.

I froze in the middle of the office, my documents hanging useless in my hands.

He looked up at last. His eyes met mine—and widened.

Recognition slammed into him, raw and undeniable.

Shock. Disbelief. And… was that guilt flickering there, too?

My chest tightened. My pulse roared in my ears.

This had to be a coincidence. Right?

It couldn’t be him. Not here. Not now.

And yet—Christopher Cornell. Chris.

The man who had ruined me once, standing there in a suit, as if seven years hadn’t passed at all.

\~\~\~

Val

Unexpected Reunion

“Ms. Valeria Rowan. Please, take a seat.” His voice was formal, clipped, too professional to be natural.

I sat down, staring at my hands in my lap, wishing I could melt into the chair and disappear. This wasn’t how today was supposed to go.

“Val… is that you?” he asked, uncertainty lacing his tone.

“The very same.” My laugh was dry, brittle. God, could the floor just open up and swallow me now?

“Are you… married now?”

I snapped my gaze up to him. He looked older, sharper in a way, but those same grey eyes still pinned me in place. “Is that even a proper question for an interview?”

He flinched, then ran a hand over his jaw. “No, of course not. You caught me off guard. Last time I saw you, it was… what, seven, eight years?”

“Seven,” I said flatly. “Maybe eight. I don’t know.”

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling. Then, softly: “I got robbed. After that night at the Marriott—my car, my phone, my laptop. Everything was gone. I tried to reach out, Val, I swear. But I didn’t know how. Years later I searched for you on social media, but you weren’t there either. I’m… sorry.”

Sorry. That one word burned worse than all the silence.

I swallowed hard, forcing steel into my spine. “Let’s just… get back to business, so I don’t waste your time.”

His mouth tightened. “Alright.”

The next thirty minutes were torture. Question, answer. Question, answer. Both of us pretending this was just another interview. Pretending we hadn’t once burned each other alive in a hotel room.

Finally, he closed the folder. “We’ll be in touch soon.”

I nodded, stood, and left before the silence strangled me completely.

\~\~\~

That night, I sat at my desk, red pen in hand, grading high school essays that suddenly looked more tragic than Shakespeare. My phone buzzed with an unknown number.

I almost ignored it. Almost.

“Hello?”

“Is this Ms. Valeria Rowan?”

The voice. That voice.

“Yes,” I said slowly.

“This is Christopher Cornell from Heartfelt University.” His tone started formal, then slipped into something softer, more familiar. “I wanted to let you know you got the job. But… for it to be official, you’ll need to have dinner with me tonight. We’ll talk it over.”

My pulse spiked. “That feels like a serious abuse of authority.”

“Worth the risk,” he said smoothly. “Seven o’clock. I’ll text you the address.”

My lips betrayed me, curving. “Fine. Deal.”

\~\~\~

The restaurant was dim, quiet, the kind of place where the wine list was heavier than my laptop. I arrived early — but he was already there. Jacket draped over his chair, tie loosened, impossibly composed.

“Val.” He stood, pulling out my chair like this was the 1950s. His hand brushed mine as I sat, and the touch sent a shock racing up my arm.

“Chris,” I said, my voice catching on his name.

The waiter arrived; Chris ordered red wine before I could breathe. Like this was a board meeting. Like he hadn’t once kissed me until I forgot how to breathe.

“So,” I said, trying for cool, “am I really hired? Or is this just the longest second interview in history?”

His lips twitched. “You’re hired. This is… just dinner.”

Awkward silence. The scrape of cutlery. Too much space between us, too much history pressing in.

I broke first. “You know, when someone disappears for seven years, a girl might assume she was just another notch in the bedpost.”

His eyes snapped up — sharp, then softening. “Val, I told you. I lost everything that night. And for years… I tried to find you.”

I traced the rim of my glass. “You could’ve tried harder.”

His answer came low. “You’re right.”

I blinked. No excuses. No fight. Just that.

I swallowed hard. “So why leave UPenn? Why trade the Ivy League for a smaller place like Heartfelt?”

He hesitated. “Because I needed to start over. That’s the answer I give on paper.” His eyes darkened, locking onto mine. “The truth? Something was missing. I didn’t know what. But I kept looking for you. So I came back. I knew if I couldn’t find you, Mary would.”

The air left my lungs.

The waiter saved me, dropping plates between us, the moment breaking. We murmured thanks in unison, our voices tripping over each other, and both of us laughed awkwardly.

He studied me again, too long, too deep. “So. High school teaching. That must’ve been… something.”

“It was fine,” I said. “Kids falling in love, breaking up, crying over prom. At least they felt everything fully.”

“And you didn’t?”

His question cut close. I stabbed my fork into lettuce. “Not since… a long time ago.”

By dessert, we’d exhausted small talk. Books. Travel. Work. Every word was polite, but every silence screamed.

Finally, he leaned forward, his fork abandoned. “Val, we can keep pretending this is just dinner. Or we can admit what’s really happening here.”

My breath caught. “And what’s that?”

His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed serious. “That you’re the only woman I’ve thought about for seven years.”

The air vanished from my chest.

I didn’t know if I wanted to run… or kiss him until the whole damn restaurant disappeared.

\~\~\~