Page 41 of We Shouldn’t Do This Again

I move carefully. I pick up my clothes from the floor and get dressed quickly, barely looking at her, as though avoiding her gaze could somehow erase what happened between us. It doesn’t work. Nothing works. Every step I take is heavy with memories. And before my body can betray me once again, I leave.

The air outside greets me with unexpected coolness. The storm has completely passed. The sky is clear and radiant, as if that wild night had never existed. I walk almost without thinking, crossing the small path between the bungalows. My feet move on their own, guided by an urgent need to put distance between us, to regain some order and control. I enter my bungalow, shut the door behind me, and lean against it for a second, taking a deep breath as I try to calm everything inside me.

“It’s okay…” I whisper to myself, squeezing my eyes shut. “The fact that you fucked her means absolutely nothing. It was just the storm… and those damn memories…”

But I know it’s a huge lie. I head straight to the bathroom, turn on the shower, and let the water run hot before stepping beneath it. It’s hot—too hot—but I don’t move away. I need to feel something different, something other than this fire still racing through me. I close my eyes and let the water slide down my skin, washing away the traces of the night. Or at least I try. Because the harder I try to push it away, the more present it becomes in my mind.

I swallow hard and brace my hands against the shower wall, letting the stream pound against the back of my neck.

“No…” I murmur, shaking my head at myself. “You can’t let yourself do this, Lidia. She’s your ex-wife, she hurt you badly, you’ve been apart for two years…”

But my mind won’t listen to me. Neither will my body. Because there’s something I can’t deny: I still feel everything. Heat rises through my chest and up my neck like a treacherous echo of what we shared. And I hate myself for it. For the way I react, for how vividly I remember every detail, for how… I still desire her with a force that terrifies me. I clench my teeth tightly and let the water continue to fall mercilessly.

“It was a mistake,” I whisper again, my voice breaking. “It’s a mistake, and you know it.”

But that’s not how I felt last night. Not while her lips traced my skin, nor while her fingers tangled in my hair. And that’s exactly what scares me the most. I force myself to focus, to breathe slowly, to rebuild that barrier it took me so long to put up over the years. Then Alex appears in my mind, like a rope I cling to desperately. Her laugh, the way she looks at me as if I were the only person in her world, the calm she always gives me when we’re together. “I love you just the way you are,” she told me last time, and I felt at home. That’s real. That’s healthy. That’s what I should truly want.

I shut off the water. The silence that follows is deafening. I step out of the shower and dry myself quickly, as though standing still another second would be dangerous. I put on light clothes, trying to reclaim a version of myself that makes sense, that feels coherent, that isn’t lost in a thousand directions at once. When I’m done, I look at myself in the mirror and I’m no longer sure what I see reflected back at me. It certainly isn’t someone who knows what she’s doing with her life. My eyes are shining, my cheeks are still flushed, and there’s a lump in my throat that can’t be seen but refuses to disappear. And I wonder if I’ll be able to get through these next few days and somehow return to where I started.

The restaurant is bustling with life again at this hour of the morning. The cheerful clinking of cups, the lively chatter of the guests, the delicious aroma of coffee and fresh fruit… everything feels painfully normal, as if the world insists on reminding me that nothing has changed. I scan the tables and spot her immediately. Miriam is sitting by the window, absentmindedly stirring something in her cup. When she sees me approaching, she looks up and gives me a smile that, for some reason, throws me off balance.

“Good morning,” she says warmly as I reach the table. “Or should I say… very good morning. You look like you didn’t get much sleep, but like you enjoyed staying in bed until the very last second, didn’t you?”

I smile as I sit down across from her, trying to hide my nerves and the wild pounding of my heart.

“Is it that obvious?”

She watches me closely, perhaps too closely, tilting her head as if she’s reading between the lines.

“Just a little,” she replies softly before taking a sip of her coffee. “After what happened at the restaurant, you were really tense. It showed on your face, Lidia. But today… there’s a different sparkle in your eyes.”

Heat rushes up my neck instantly, coloring my cheeks. I lower my gaze to the table, pretending to study the menu in front of me just to buy myself a second.

“I guess… yesterday’s rain washed everything away,” I say with a small, nervous smile. “I thought the bungalow was going to collapse on top of me. But it ended up being pretty relaxing.”

“What was relaxing was everything Barbara did to you in bed,” a little voice inside me reminds me, and I nearly choke on my own saliva at the memory.

“Storms tend to have that effect, yes…” Miriam murmurs, and there’s something in her tone that makes me think she isn’t just talking about the weather. She sets her cup down and looks directly at me. “You’re not fooling me, though. I don’t know you that well yet, but something tells me you’re like your father and that when something happens to you, you keep it to yourself because you’re afraid someone might take it away.”

I look at her and brush a hand over my temple, pretending to tuck away a strand of hair that isn’t there.

“Nothing happened. It’s just…” I glance up and bite my lip. “Things with Barbara worked themselves out. We talked, and that’s all. There’s nothing else.”

Miriam raises an eyebrow in surprise.

“That’s a huge relief…” she says at last. “When I found out who she was and about your father’s plan to invite her to the wedding, I told him things could go badly. But now that I know everything’s okay…” She sighs. “Still, if you ever need to talk, I’m here. You know I don’t judge. Shall we have breakfast?” she suggests delicately, changing the subject.

“Please…”

While we order breakfast—I ask for a strong latte and tomato toast, as always—I try to focus on ordinary things, on simple things, on anything that doesn’t hurt. Miriam tells me we have a lot of work ahead of us today with the wedding details and that she wants to settle several matters before the rest of the guests arrive. I nod, grateful for the distraction she offers me, even though my mind keeps drifting back to Barbara’s bed.

“Count on me,” I tell her firmly, forcing a smile. “I’ve got energy to spare today. Just tell me what you need, and we’ll get it done.”

That much is true. I do have plenty of energy, even if I’m not entirely sure where it’s coming from. Maybe guilt. Maybe the desire still burning inside me.

“I’m so glad,” she replies with a warm smile, reaching over to squeeze my hand for a second. “It’ll do us good to keep our minds occupied. Me because of my nerves, and you… because otherwise you’re going to roast like a prawn in the sun. Have you seen how tan you already are?”

“A trait I inherited from my father, I suppose.”