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I kept to the walls, away from the bar, not wanting him to notice me. He probably thought I was a fucking stalker, a predator being stealthy to get my prey. But I needed to know if she was here tonight. And I’d keep coming back every single night until I saw her. Surely she’d be working one of the days I was here. And if not, then I’d just take an extended vacation and continue to search for her.

I’d plead my case with the bartender if it came to that. I wasn’t too proud to beg for more information, to tell him as much as I needed to about who and what Adele was to me. I was very protective of the information about her, about the experience we’d shared, but if giving him a morsel of detail would lead me to Adele, then so be it.

I found a table in the corner, slightly shrouded by shadows. I took a seat, and no more than a couple minutes later, a waitress came by to take my order. After getting a beer, I watched as she walked over to the bar. I could see the guy from yesterday serving drinks. I wondered what he was to Adele.

He was young, probably around my thirtysomething. He was also good-looking, with short dark hair, scruff covering his jaw and cheeks, and a physique that told me he worked out probably just as much as I did. The white shirt he wore molded to his muscles, and he wore a couple necklaces, silver chains that hung between his pecs. He had a tattoo on the underside of one of his biceps, and all of that coupled with the smile he gave the girls no doubt had their panties dropping. That possessive, jealous side of me rose up.

Did he have feelings for Adele? Three months was a decent amount of time that she could’ve found someone new. The very thought of being with anyone else turned my stomach, and the very fucking thought of her with another man had me so enraged I could’ve knocked some asshole’s teeth in.

I turned my focus away from him because I didn’t need to start a fight. And if I kept watching him, letting those toxic, jealous thoughts invade my head, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from kicking his ass on principle alone.

I wasn’t here because of him or for him. I was here because of Adele, in hopes I’d see her.

I scanned the interior of the bar, hoping like hell I’d spot her among the sea of people. But so far she wasn’t here. I found myself tapping my foot nervously, anxiously, had my forearm braced on top of the table, my hand clenched tightly, my other hand on my lap in the same position. Fuck, was I nervous. My heart was thundering, and I felt dots of sweat bead along my temples.

For the next half hour I sat there nursing beer after beer, watching as performer after performer went on that stage. And all the while, I focused on the room, seeing if I could recognize her. God, I wanted to see her.

There was a short intermission, and I got up and headed to the bathroom. It should’ve been an in-and-out affair, five minutes tops, but there were three guys ahead of me, a line out the door. I contemplated just heading back to the table, waiting it out. I didn’t want to miss my chance of possibly seeing Adele. But the line started moving and I stuck it out. The men’s and women’s bathrooms were located down a short, dark hallway. There were pictures on either side of the hall, blues singers, jazz performers. There were newspaper cutouts from the twenties, women wearing flapper outfits, men smoking thick cigars and wearing bowler hats.

Ten minutes later I was finished, my hands washed, and headed back out of the bathroom and to my waiting table.

I weaved my way around people congregating in clusters and looked down to focus on the ground. I could hear people talking loudly, conversations coming from all angles, blending together. The lights d

immed even more, and then I heard a chorus of clapping, knew the next performer was due to get on that stage any minute.

I was about to look up when I ran right into someone. A female, given her small frame and womanly curves. Her gasp of shock filled my head, and I instinctively reached out and grabbed her arms, steadying her. A few people pushed me from behind, causing me to stumble forward, shifting so she was now up against the wall, my body close to hers. This all happened in a matter of seconds, and although I hadn’t even looked up from the ground yet, didn’t even know who she was, it was her scent that immediately captivated me, that had fantasies of what I’d been looking for my entire life filling my head.

It was her aroma that had memories moving at a rapid pace through my brain, had my synapses firing as if they were on speed. I swore time stood still as I slowly lifted my head and looked into the big, dark-brown eyes of the woman I’d been searching for, for the last three months. The woman I was madly in love with and she didn’t even know it.

I couldn’t hear anything but the rush of blood through my veins, the hard beat of my heart.

The world stopped on its axis, everyone stilling, freezing. There was only her and me. There was only Adele.

I had my hands wrapped loosely around her bare arms, her skin warm like silk. The dress she wore was reminiscent of what she’d worn on that night I met her all those months ago. All I could smell, see, feel was her.

Her eyes were so big, so wide as surprise covered her expression, as she stared up at me. Her lips were red, glossy from the lipstick she wore. I wanted to kiss her until we were breathless, until all there was were the sensations we gave each other.

Her skin was just as smooth as I remembered, just as flawless. The dark tone so damn gorgeous, so fucking perfect. All I wanted to do was pull her close, bury my face in the crook of her neck, and just inhale deeply, revel in the fact that she was here with me, that I’d finally found her.

“Adele,” I said softly, or maybe I didn’t say it out loud at all. Maybe I said it in my head over and over again. Maybe I was dreaming.

What I knew for certain was I didn’t want to let her go.

I’d never let her go.

6

Adele

I was Alice, and I’d fallen down the rabbit hole as I stared up into the blue eyes that had haunted me every night since we’d been together.

Three months.

Twelve weeks.

Ninety days.

Not that I was counting or anything.


Tags: Jenika Snow And The There Was Romance