Page 70 of The Sound Between Us

But it’s him.

Harrison Carter.

He’s in a black suit, no tie, shirt slightly unbuttoned. He just rolled out of bed and happened to look devastating. His hair’s that maddening mess of deliberate chaos, and those amber eyes are locked on me, like I’m the only thing in the room worth noticing.

“Hello, Serendipity,” he says, and its all warm honey with a northern drag.

The champagne glass slips a fraction in my hand. I catch it before it falls, heart uneven, traitor body buzzing with the memory of him, in me, on me, around me.

“Harrison.”

And he looks good. God, he looks dangerous; the kind of good that belongs in rooms this way. And I hate it.

“I was hoping I’d see you here.”

No performance; no cheek. Just raw honesty, dropped into glittering chaos.

“Were you? And why’s that?”

His smile is small; real. “Because I owe you an apology.”

No warm-up; no buffer.

I’m trying hard not to look at him, keeping him out of focus. “Do you? And what exactly are you apologising for?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “For what I said on the phone.” I’ve only had one sip of champagne, but my legs give a tremble I want to curse. “I meant missing the flight, was stupid. Not...” He swallows. “Not what happened between us. That was the furthest thing from stupid.”

“You didn’t clarify.”

“You were already throwing me out. I thought... maybe you’d heard what you wanted to hear.” He peeks at me through his lashes. “An excuse to get rid of me before it got complicated.”

I stare at him. Because he’s not wrong; I did pull back. I did want him gone the moment I felt vulnerable.

“So you left.”

“So I left.” He steps closer. “But I shouldn’t have. I should’ve stayed and fought for us to understand each other.”

There’s a pause. Heavy. Fragile. And my heart beats into the cracks of it.

“That song,” he says and his voice drops. “The one we wrote. I can’t get it out of my head.”

“Catchy, was it?”

He doesn’t smile at my deflection. “It was real. Everything else I write feels...” He shakes his head. “Empty.”

A woman breezes past behind him—sky-high heels and a glass of red, muttering into her phone, “—no, Harrison Carter just showed up and…” before she disappears into the glitter.

I don’t flinch. Neither does he.

“That must be inconvenient.”

“Seren.” The way he says my name makes small little crinkles fold into the empty spaces within me. “I know I fucked it up. I know you don’t owe me anything. But seeing you here...”

He trails off, looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read. Desperate, maybe. Or just tired.

“What?”

“I forgot how you made everything else disappear.”