The spectacular scenery, the trains and buses that get me everywhere with ease.
The snowcapped mountains overlooking the rolling green hills.
The bright blue lakes fed from the glaciers miles away.
The clean air. The charming streets. The cafes that let you linger over a coffee or an Aperol spritz.
And even with all of that…I’m miserable.
Not all the time.
I’ve had good moments.
I’ve sledded on top of a glacier, taken a cogwheel train up the side of a mountain at a seemingly impossible angle, ridden gondolas over little Swiss towns that are as quaint as they are beautiful.
And the food.
The pastries are so buttery they nearly make me cry. The markets are a mix of adorable crafts and junky trinkets—and I love looking at all of them.
But underneath all of that wonderfulness is an ache.
A sense of wrongness.
Like I’m slowly drifting through a dream I’ve wanted for years only to realize it’s actually a nightmare.
All because the people I want to share this with most of all aren’t here.
So by the time I make it back to my hostel after another day of pretending I’m having more fun than I actually am, I’m tired in a way I know sleep won’t fix.
I head up the steps, reach for the door?—
And stop dead.
Because Rhodes is sitting on the bench less than ten feet away.
For one dizzying second, I genuinely think I’m making him up.
That my brain has finally given in to delusion and I’m hallucinating the man I miss with such intensity.
Then he stands.
And…no hallucination could look that wrecked.
Thatbroken.
His eyes lock onto mine, and my pulse leaps so hard in my veins that I actually have to lock my knees in order to keep my feet. “What are you doing here?” I whisper when he’s close enough to hear me, close enough for me to see the deep brown of his eyes, smell the spicy male scent of him.
He opens his mouth. Closes it. And finally rasps out, “I was looking for you.”
I hate that those five words almost undo me on the spot.
“Well,” I say, tightening my middle, doing my best to hold myself together. “You found me.” I turn to go.
“Finn.”
I freeze, can’t stop myself from rotating back to face him.
He takes one step closer, then stops like he doesn’t trust himself to take another. “I was trying to protect Chloe,” he says, his voice so rough it scours over my skin like sandpaper. “And to protect myself from losing you.”
