“Not anymore,” Marcus says, grinning. He hooks an arm around Paige’s waist and pulls her in for a quick kiss, confirming what I already suspected: She’s the girl he’s been seeing for the last few weeks.
The other two women, Macy and Rachel, sayhito my friends, trading hugs and casual greetings. Jenna hangs back a bit, her fingers curled around the strap of her purse and her green eyes sweeping the bar.
Then her gaze lands on me.
For a second, everything else drops away. The music, the clink of glassware, the steady buzz of conversation… it all fades.
Her eyes widen slightly, recognition flickering there, but only in the sense ofhave I seen you around?NotI sat in front of you for four years while you sketched images of me in your notebook.
“You’re the chocolate guy,” she says, her brow furrowing adorably. “From Bliss.”
It’s a small miracle I don’t grin like an idiot. “I’m the chocolate guy,” I say, leaning casually on my cue stick. “Glad to see you’ve recovered from your…dickfaux pas.”
Her cheeks flush. “Mrs. Schumacher might never heal, but I’ll live.”
I chuckle. “She’ll be alright. I sent her home with a free box of truffles.”
“Bribing the witness,” Jenna says. “Smart.”
Up close, I can smell it again, that signature green apple scent. It hits me square in the chest and drags a thousand memories with it. Hallways and lockers and her head tipped down over a worn paperback.
Paige glances between us, realization dawning in her eyes. “Wait a second.” She points at me. “You’reOliver, right? Oliver Jacobson?”
There it is.
I give her a small nod. “Yeah. Been a while. I moved back two months ago.”
Macy snaps her fingers. “Oh my God. The art guy. You drew that mural for the fall festival in junior year.”
“The scarecrow puking up pumpkin guts,” Rachel adds.
I wince. “Really hoping that wouldn’t be the thing I’m remembered for.”
They laugh, and I look back at Jenna, curious. Her brows are knit, her head tilted slightly, like she’s trying to line up two images that don’t make sense.
“Oliver… Jacobson,” she repeats slowly.
Her eyes travel over my face, lingering on my jaw, my mouth, my eyes. I can almost see the gears turning. I wait but nothing comes. Just confusion and a faint spark of recognition that never fully catches. It should sting, but it doesn’t. Instead, something intriguing curls in my chest. I get to watch her rediscover me, piece by piece.
“It’s okay,” I say, saving her from the mental gymnastics. “We had a few classes together. I always sat behind you.”
Her eyes widen a fraction, and I see it, the sharp little flicker ofoh.
“You were…” She hesitates, clearly trying to phrase it kindly. “Taller. Skinnier.”
“Had braces,” I add.
“And black glasses,” Paige chimes in. “With tape on the side.”
“Don’t forget the acne,” Marcus throws in helpfully.
I swing my arms open as if presenting myself. “A truly iconic era of my life.”
Jenna’s mouth curves, a laugh slipping out. “Okay, now I remember you. Wow. You look…different.”
I arch a brow. “Different good or different bad?”
Her gaze skims down my body, over the fitted tee, the jeans, the tattoos curling down my arms. When her eyes meet mine again, they’re darker, more intense. And my chest puffs a little from her appreciative inspection.
