And then I see it.
The maze looms ahead, lantern-lit and ominous, like a glowing metaphor for my questionable decision making.
This could go either way.
I stare into the hedge labyrinth like it’s the emotional equivalent of scaling Kilimanjaro in heels. For all I know, Tyler could be anywhere, the lake, the rose garden, halfway to Dover by now.
But my gut says he’s here.
And if I don’t go in, if I don’t at leasttry, I’ll regret it.
Forever.
So, I do the only logical thing.
I hitch my skirt, say a quick prayer to whichever saint handles ill-advised romantic gestures, and step inside.
Left. Left again. Dead end. Backtrack. Right. No, wait…other right.
The lanterns flicker above me as I weave through, my dress snagging on every opportunistic twig in Kent.
I turn another corner and come face-to-face with a suspiciously familiar patch of lumpy green.
“Fucking Derek,” I mutter. “Met your cousin…useless bastard too.”
I keep moving.
The path curves again. The sounds of the party are gone now, just the crunch of gravel under my shoes and the thud of my pulse in my ears.
And then, finally, the clearing.
The centre.
Empty.
My stomach sinks.
For a second, I think I’ve imagined the whole thing, not just this mad chase, but theentire weekend.
The flirting. The garden. The kiss…
Him.
Me.
Us.
Maybe it was all just in my head.
But then I see it.
A jacket.
Black, perfectly cut, discarded on the floor. My breath catches.
He’s here.
My earl.
