Chapter 1 — The Unwanted Reunion
On the 18th day of August, Summer neither imagined nor expected to have dinner with an ex who left her roughly ten years ago. But then again, if there was one thing men never ran out of, it would be their audacity.
In her defense, when she accepted the dinner invitation laced with the promise of the greatest opportunity she had ever heard of in a while, she hadn’t known it would lead to a reunion she never wanted in the last seven years of her life.
Summer had not expected that June Solstice, the elusive author of a multi-million selling book trilogy and the most streamed series of the year, would be Winter Albert Herrera. Her wonderful first love and her fucking shitty ex-boyfriend, who she dated for seven blissful damn years.
“Summer, this is my dear friend who wishes to hire you as an illustrator.” Annalise ushered her into the penthouse’s foyer with a pale oak wood flooring, while she also gestured at the man who was meeting them halfway with a certain confidence bouncing off his footfalls. “Meet Winter Albert Herrera, more famously known as the one and only June Solstice. Alberto, this is Summer Cornelia Vasquez, the one and only artist you have personally requested to meet.”
Now, if there was one thing Summer held desperately close to her chest at that moment, it was her pride. So, she smiled, all polite and pleasant to mask her discomfort. It was a necessary tool she was forced to learn and wield as she navigated the social circuit she once belonged to. At that moment, it was the perfectly right tool she needed to use again as Winter looked at her.
But she wasn’t a hundred percent sure she pulled it off as well as she would’ve in her younger years. It might’ve looked more like a grimace with how stiff her every muscle felt as she stared at him just as he stared right back at her.
She stared and stared; a second longer for each year she hadn’t seen neither hide nor hair of him.
One.
Two.
Three.
Summer knew of that dark wavy hair despite being shortened into a neat trim. She had combed her fingers through the thick strands, sometimes clenching and often pulling them hard when he used to send her to the kind of heaven found on earth. Summer could almost feel the silky texture on her fingertips, and her hands that fell limply on her sides twitched, traitorously itching and aching to touch again.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Summer also knew of the unforgettable pair of almond eyes boring into her at the moment. They used to blaze with adoration, want and desires, sometimes all at once that Summer drowned in them on countless nights.
The tear mole a little bit below the outer corner of his right eye was still there. Summer could also see the same stretch of the lips she had once owned in her younger years. It was still such a disarming smile but probably more lethal than before. After all, the boyish features she knew like the back of her hand had morphed to define what an attractive man was.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Not even the nearly imperceptible lines of laughter and worry on Winter’s face that wrote of a history that was completely unknown to Summer, nor the confident and wide contour of his shoulders that once teetered between lanky and lean, could hide the fact that it was him.
Winter Albert Herrera.
And ten.
Summer blinked. Once. Twice. But the man remained standing before her, a little imposing and terribly handsome in an ensemble of apparels he couldn’t possibly afford back then, but still dared to dream to buy and own.
“Hello, Miss Vasquez. I’m pleased to meet you again after so long.”
Winter offered his hand for Summer to take, and the first thing she noticed was the absence of a ring on his fourth finger. The sight of it set her traitorous heart to nearly leap for a reason she kind of knew but wouldn’t admit to herself just yet.
Absolutely not. No. Nope. Nuh uh.
She was not going there. NO.
That was a rabbit hole she would not dare cross even with a single toe. At least, not yet anyway. Or maybe ever.
She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure. All because the mere sight of him had tilted her world out of balance, out of place.
“Again? What do you mean again?” Annalise asked before Summer could even decide whether or not she should take Winter’s awaiting hand.
Annalise looked back and forth between Summer and Winter, curiosity alight in her dark brown eyes.
Winter clenched his hand into a tight fist and dropped it back to his side. He turned to Annalise and smiled. It wasn’t much, but it was wide enough that the skin right by the outer corner of his eyes slightly mirrored a cat’s whiskers.
It was the kind of fond smile that held no defenses, Summer knew. She knew because she had seen it a lot of times before. She had…
She caught herself right there, stopping whatever thoughts that threatened to form. She wasn’t going to be that kind of ex-girlfriend who would be all haughty for ‘having him first.’ If there was something more in that softened gaze and tender smile, that was between Annalise and Winter. Summer was absolutely no longer a part of it.
“Just,” Winter began to explain. His eyes darted back to Summer’s face with an unreadable intensity as he finished with a vague, “a shared history.”
It wasn’t a wrong thing to say because it was the truth. Ten years ago was a history that long passed since.
But when Summer affirmed it herself by lamely adding, “Yeah, a history,” the word felt heavy and tasted bitter on her tongue. It left her praying to God it wasn’t apparent in how the word rolled out of her mouth.
What was wrong with her? She had dedicated almost a third of her life to healing and moving on from Winter, and yet here she was, cracking bit by bit within mere minutes of being in his presence.
Perhaps, that one thing she tried so hard to deny to herself was coming back to the surface.
That despite her best efforts, there was a foolish, foolish part in Summer that clung to bits and pieces of Winter, as if trying to preserve snow through every spring and summer.
She quickly shoved the thought away with all her might. What she wasn’t going to do was to confront it while she breathed the same air in the same room as Winter. Actually, she’d rather not face that shit at all if she truly had a choice.
Summer swallowed, hardening her heart once more with the pride she was hanging onto more desperately now.
Annalise, being the sweetheart that she was, took the answer as it was given. She beamed amiably and urged Winter to welcome them into his penthouse that looked a little too modest for the most expensive unit of the most expensive building in the city.
Minimalism was taken a bit too seriously with how the entire place remained too spacious and too monochromatic for Summer’s own taste. How did Winter not go insane with all the glass and cream painted walls, with only a sprinkle of gray, hints of polished wood and little accents of gold scattered here and there?
‘Whoever his interior designer was should quit.’
As they go further inside, Summer let her already fatigued eyes stay on the striking piece on the wall, the only big splash of color so fara pressed bouquet of flowers encased in a glass with golden linings at its sides.
Somehow, it stirred something in Summer’s memory that she couldn’t quite grasp. As if each flower gave her brain an itch that she couldn’t reach to scratch.
“You cooked!”
Annalise’s gleeful declaration effectively pried Summer’s attention away from the pressed bunch of sunflowers in full bloom, pale pink spray roses, and tiny chamomile buds.
True to her words, from where they were standing by the dining area, the kitchen visibly had a disarray of unwashed pans and utensils, and leftover ingredients set haphazardly aside on the travertine island counter to make space of two beautifully plated chicken alfredo pasta and one out of place fiery Mapo tofu that was generously served on top of a steaming white rice on a big yellow bowl.
“You cooked,” Summer repeated in a soft mumble, almost a little too absent-mindedly with how her gaze was glued on her favorite dish.
“Of course,” Winter affirmed as he made a beeline towards the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “You were coming for dinner, so I had to.”
“You only ever order takeout for me whenever I come over. Me! Your hard working rep slash manager slash secretary slash slave.” The sulking expression that Annalise wore on her face changed into one that was full of amusement when she added, “Are you so desperate to get my friend to accept the project, Alberto?”
Winter shrugged, not really looking at either of his guests as he tossed aside the clean white towel he had used to dry his hands. “So what if I am?”
“Then you’re doing well! You even prepared her favorite. Mapo tofu!”
He didn’t say anything more to which Summer was thankful for.
As it was, she was already feeling ill-footed about everything. She was far too unprepared to meet Winter again, let alone have dinner of her favorite prepared by him. If he had said something to refer to their past, she would’ve combusted in a mess of angry tears.
Because how dare he be so nonchalant? How dare he be so unaffected when Summer was drowning with emotions that she cannot yet name nor allow herself to process?
How dare he cook her favorite? An implication of how he still remembered pieces of her despite him abandoning her at such a vulnerable time.
How dare he face Summer, and even dare to look her in the eyes, not even displaying a sliver of shame nor remorse after how he had broken her?
How dare he come barreling back into her life, offering an opportunity too good and too tempting for Summer to say no to? As though he knew just how to lure her in.
If Winter had made a comment about their past, no matter how harmless and casual it was, Summer’s pride would’ve slipped from her hands and shattered at their feet with an explosion of an enraged, ‘How fucking dare you?’
But he didn’t. So Summer’s pride was still intact in her hold, and her inhibitions were still reigning her emotions in.
“Please,” Winter invited as he gestured at the ebony wood dining table that he had swiftly set up for the three of them.
“Sun–” He cleared his throat and amended whatever was about to slip from his lips. “Miss Vasquez, please. Have a seat. The Mapo tofu is yours.” He made a gesture with his hand again, directed this time at the hearty meal he prepared specifically for Summer.
“Come on, Summer. Let’s not make the food wait.”
Summer turned to Annalise and felt quite at ease. At the very least, Summer wasn’t alone with Winter. There was Annalise whose positive presence was a familiarity that grounded her while the turmoil continued to simmer beneath her skin.
It was going to be fine.
Still, Summer was afraid her knees would buckle under the intensity of Winter’s gaze as he waited for her to finally take her seat. So with legs that felt heavy like lead, she moved towards where the bowl of rice and Mapo tofu waited for her.
She was about to pull the chair back when Winter sidled next to her in a heartbeat, whispering softly, “Please let me.”
Summer instantly recoiled, stepping back to regain the distance she wanted to keep. If Winter noticed the wince in her movement, he didn’t say anything.
Without a sound, he grabbed the chance to pull the chair for Summer who took it with a mumbled gratitude.
“Wow,” Annalise drawled from across Summer. Her upper body was leaning forward in interest, while her elbow rested on top of the table and her chin sat on the back of her hand. “This is blatant favoritism, Alberto.”
She squinted her eyes at him, and a moment of silent communication passed between them, which Summer willfully tried to ignore.
“Y’know what, I just remembered I have a call to make! The both of you go ahead and dig in even without me. I’ll be right back. I promise.”
Summer awkwardly shifted on her chair, trying to find a semblance of comfort as Annalise left them to their own devices. Except the beige cushion of her seat didn’t do much to make her feel comfortable. Not when her mind and heart were at war for the damning man from her past who was in front of her at present.
The said man slid onto his own seat at the head of the table and said ever so casually, “So, shall we have a chat?”
