Sydney and Ryan sat at the bar like they’d known each other for years, even though technically it was only date number two. He had that strange effect on her — like safety wrapped in danger, like someone she shouldn’t trust but somehow did anyway.

Conversation flowed easy between them. Laughter came without effort. With each story they traded, they leaned an inch closer, as if pulled by something magnetic and inevitable.

She didn’t notice his hand at first — just warmth near her knee, the ghost of touch. Then fingers slipped beneath the hem of her skirt, slow, deliberate, a question asked wordlessly. Had it been anyone else, she would have shut it down in an instant, turned sharp and cold and walked out. But this was him. The exception. The gravity she didn’t want to escape.

His fingertips traced higher, teasing the inside of her thigh, until her breath came shallow. He leaned in, breath warm against her ear.

“You haven’t stopped me,” he murmured.

Her lips curved, pulse fluttering like wings in her chest.

“I didn’t want to.”

They clinked glasses, kept talking — two people appearing casual from the outside, while something electric and forbidden unfolded beneath the bar, like a secret meant only for them.

“Mom!! I can’t find my tablet!”

The memory shattered like glass dropped on tile.

Sydney blinked hard and found herself back in her kitchen — mismatched mugs drying by the sink, cereal crumbs on the counter, lukewarm coffee in her hand. The thrill in her veins evaporated, replaced by the familiar weight of responsibility settling over her shoulders.

She called back, voice more tired than stern, “Did you check your room?”

Silence. Then a thudding sprint of small feet, drawers opening, blankets tossed.

Her heart was still racing, though not from the morning chaos. She set her mug down and braced her palms against the counter, head bowed. How long had it been since someone touched her like that? Since someone looked at her like she was desire, not obligation? How long since she’d laughed without checking the time or worrying about lunches and laundry and bedtime battles?

Ryan.

God, she hadn’t thought of him in years. And yet the memory felt like yesterday — like her body remembered even if her life had moved on.

Her son reappeared in the doorway, cheeks pink with frustration.

“It’s still not there.”

She softened. “Okay, baby. I’ll help you look in a minute.”

He nodded and disappeared again, leaving her alone with the ghost of a man who once made her feel alive.

She exhaled slowly, willing the past back into its box.

But it didn’t go.

It lingered.

Pulled.

A spark under ash.

She hadn’t even begun to wonder why he resurfaced in her mind today — but she would soon.