Adrian did not sleep that night.
He tried. God, he tried. He kept tossing and turning in bed till he kicked off the duvet. He was exhausted, but his mind refused him mercy. Every time he closed his eyes, the same image resurfaced, Elena framed in the bakery window, frost rimmed against the glass, her eyes colliding with his, watching him.
He hadn't prepared or expected to see her after all these years, years of careful and systematic avoidance of all thoughts of her, years of pouring himself into his wine business, and still the sight of her unraveled him in a single second and left him feeling raw.
IBeside him, the radiator ticked and hissed. Daniel sat up, combing through his hair with his fingers. The night was too young and long, his thoughts too sharp.
At three a.m., he gave up entirely. He descended the staircase to the bar below his flat, switching on the soft lights above the polished counter absent-mindedly. The familiar oak-and-berry scent of the cellar greeted him, warm and grounding. His hands moved automatically checking barrels, measuring fermentation levels, and polishing glasses that needed no polishing. He told himself it was work, but it wasn't, it was a distraction and survival.
Wine had always been his way of making sense of chaos. The slow patience of it, the knowledge that something broken down could, with time and care, transform into something whole. But tonight, staring at the rows of bottles gleaming in the low light, the metaphor did not fit. Not everything aged and blossomed into beauty. Some things turned sour no matter what you did. He poured himself a glass that early, but barely took a sip as he was too restless and distracted with his thoughts.
When dawn finally peeped through the blinds, Adrian hadn't slept a minute. He climbed up the stairs again and stood at the window of his flat, coffee cooling in his hand. Snow sifted lightly onto Main Street, softening the world into something deceptively peaceful. He wondered if she was awake already, if she still rose early the way she used to. If she was looking out at the same snow, thinking of him, or if he was nothing more than an unwelcome memory she'd rather keep buried.
The floorboard creaked, and Madison appeared. She breezed into the room with the effortless grace she carried everywhere, scrolling on her phone as if she was updating her schedule for the day.
"You're quiet this morning," she remarked, glancing up from the screen, while wearing his shirts, her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail in a way that took a little effort and intentionality. "Did you sleep at all? You look…" She paused delicately. "Tired."
Adrian managed a faint smile. "I've had a rough night."
Madison studied him a bit longer, You're somewhere else she said softly, even though the words carried a little edge. Ofcourse she wasn't a child who was totally oblivious to what had transpired yesterday afternoon, she just did not want to talk about it, after all he had made her no promises, and jealousy was never a good look.
" Just tired" he smiled at her.
"You should try and sneak in a nap before work or maybe all that planning is finally getting to you, the meeting is only two days away, and you'll need the energy. You're going to introduce me to everyone, right? The town darlings, your folks, and the old couples who still call you Ad, all of them."
"Of course," he said. The words came easily, but his chest was tight. He knew he wasn't ready for that sort of commitment, nor did he think it fair, following her lead down that path.
She thrived on appearances, on polished moments, curated introductions, and photographs of perfection. For her, the festival was a stage to generate content. For him, it was something else entirely, duty and inevitable.
She beamed satisfactorily while exiting to get ready for her day. Madison was someone he had met on one of his business trips,they had become friends and lately, the line between platonic friendship and lovers had started to blur, as they told themselves neither was ready for any serious attachment.
Adrian exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples. Madison was good company in many ways, warm when he let her be, ambitious enough to fill any quiet space. But she was never Isla. And now that she was back, her absence from his life felt sharper than ever, the contrast cruel.
The day dragged on and he buried himself in work for the rest of the day. His staff noticed he was more exacting than usual, more thorough, hovering over tasks,micro-managing, adjusting bottles by a fraction of an inch. Nobody called him out on it. He was the boss.
Beneath the motions, his thoughts casually circled back, again and again to her. The shape of her in that window. The look in her eyes. The unspoken question hung heavy between them, though no words had passed.
By evening, the bar was prepped and quiet, the kind of stillness he used to savour but today he needed air. He offered to run the last supply for the day himself, an errand one of his employees usually handled. The drive took him through streets laced with holiday lights, each storefront decorated in pine and ribbon. His chest tightened with every block that brought him closer to Oak Street, the bakery.
He told himself he'd go straight past. He even believed it for a moment. But as he turned the corner, he slowed down. The bakery lights still glowed, warm against the blue dusk. His hands tightened on the wheel. Before he could think better of it, he had parked at the far end of the street, where the dark swallowed his car whole.
From there, he could see her.
Isla moved about inside the bakery, her coat still off, sleeves rolled up. She was wiping down the counter, stacking trays, her movements precise and graceful. She looked tired, her hair hung loose and it was longer than the length she maintained then. A strand fell into her face as she leaned over. Daniel's chest tightened at the sight. Even through glass and distance, the familiarity struck him like a physical blow, the way she tucked it back behind her ears was so familiar. He knew those movements. This was the same girl who had once laughed carefree while lying on his bare chest in the vineyards. The same girl who also vanished without any sort of explanation, he quickly reminded himself. A wave of Anger washed over him, tightening his feauture. Still, he stayed where he was, hands braced on the steering wheel, not daring to move closer. The urge to walk in was almost unbearable. To walk through the door, and to hear her voice not filtered by memory. But what would he say?
Sorry?
Why did you leave?
I looked for you?
No words seemed enough, the silence seemed safer. So he stayed hidden, headlights off, heart pounding.
Inside, the object of his obsession, Isla flipped the sign on the door to CLOSED. She pulled her coat from the hook and slipped it on, her movement was slower and heavier now. She paused at the counter, resting her hand there for a moment, as though gathering herself before leaving. Then she turned out the lights one by one.
Still Adrian sat in the dark, watching. The bakery windows went black, reflecting only the snow drifting against the glass. He did not dare start the car. Not yet. He stayed there, gripped by the silence between them, the silence that had stretched all these years and still held all the weight of words unsaid.
When he finally pulled away, she was long gone and the street was empty. Seven years, and the truth was as sharp as ever. He finally exhaled, he hadn't realised he was holding in his breath. He whispered into the silence of the truck.
"I'm not over you." There was no denying it now, that he had said it out loud.
The words hung in the frosted air, heavy, undeniable.