A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 53: CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

ASHLEY

I’ve done crazy things in my life.

Things like

Trying to learn how to skateboard at twenty-four because I thought it would make me look cool. (It did not. I sprained my wrist.)

Signing up for a marathon after two glasses of wine, despite the fact that I hate running. (I didn’t train. I made it two miles before I nearly passed out.)

Cutting off all my hair on a whim and immediately regretting it.

Accidentally texting my ex in high school a message meant for my best friend—one that included a very unflattering nickname for him.

But the most reckless, most undeniably foolish thing I’d done?

Agreeing to meet my ex-husband for a drink.

My ex-husband, whom I had sworn—on multiple occasions—I would never do a thing with again.

And yet, here I was.

The bar was the kind of place that felt effortlessly cool, the kind that had probably been around for years but never lost its charm. Dim lighting, smooth jazz humming low in the background, warm amber glows reflecting off polished marble and crystal glasses. It was busy, but not chaotic—just enough people to make it feel alive without being overwhelming.

I sat at a high-top table near the back, fingers drumming lightly against my glass of whiskey—neat, because I needed something strong for this.

Kyle wasn’t here yet.

I wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse.

I checked my phone, pretending I had something important to look at, but really, I was just trying to quiet the nagging feeling clawing at my chest.

The feeling that told me I should have said no.

That nothing good ever came from nights like these.

That the last time I agreed to drinks with Kyle, I ended up in a restroom, my dress pushed up, my back against the cool tile wall, his fingers inside me, his mouth at my ear, murmuring filth that made my legs tremble.

I exhaled sharply, gripping my glass tighter.

Not tonight.

Not again.

This was just a drink. A conversation. Proof that I could sit across from him, share a space, exchange words, and then walk away untouched.

Because that’s all Kyle was now—a mistake I refused to make twice.

Right?

I took another sip of my drink, letting the burn ground me.

Then the door opened, a gust of cool air sweeping through the room.

And just like that, I knew.

Kyle had arrived.

He moved through the bar like he owned the place—confident, effortlessly charming, the kind of man who didn’t just walk into a room but became the center of it. His dark blue button-down was rolled at the sleeves, showing just enough forearm to be distracting, and his sharp jawline was dusted with that perfect amount of stubble that made him look annoyingly good.

His eyes found mine instantly, locking on like he’d been searching for me before he even stepped inside. A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips.

Damn him.

Kyle slid into the seat across from me, his movements easy, casual. Like this was just another night, just another drink. As if we weren’t two people with a history messy enough to warrant its own documentary.

His gaze dragged over me, lingering in a way that made my skin heat. “You look good, Ash.”

I rolled my eyes, pretending that didn’t affect me. “You’re late.”

He grinned, flagging down the bartender. “You missed me.”

I scoffed, lifting my glass to my lips. “You wish.”

The bartender stopped by, and Kyle ordered his usual—bourbon, neat. As soon as the drink was set in front of him, he lifted it slightly in my direction. “To old habits.”

I hesitated for a second before clinking my glass against his. “To bad ideas.”

The whiskey burned as it went down, warming my veins, loosening my tongue.

We talked.

At first, it was the kind of small talk you have with someone you used to know—casual, easy, safe. Work, random stories, things we had no real reason to care about anymore but pretended to anyway.

But then the drinks kept coming, and the conversation shifted. Grew messier. Louder. More ridiculous.

“You remember that time you got us kicked out of that fancy hotel in Paris?” Kyle asked, leaning back in his chair, his grin lazy with amusement.

I groaned, covering my face with one hand. “God, that was not my fault.”

Kyle arched a brow. “Not your fault? Ashley, you climbed into the fountain.”

I peered at him over my fingers. “Okay, but you dared me.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it!” He shook his head, taking a sip of his drink. “One second, you were just tipsy and giggling, and the next, you were standing in the middle of the damn fountain, arms out like you were in some kind of indie movie.”

I grinned at the memory, resting my chin on my palm. “It was refreshing. Very romantic.”

Kyle laughed. “The security guards didn’t think so.”

“To be fair, they were overreacting. It’s not like I was naked.”

Kyle smirked. “I’m just saying, if we ever go back to Paris, we might need disguises.”

I hummed, tilting my head. “You’d look good in a wig.”

Kyle chuckled, then suddenly leaned in, lowering his voice. “What about that time you got us stuck on a rooftop in New Orleans?”

I gasped. “Okay, that was your fault! You were the one who said it wasn’t a big deal to climb up there.”

Kyle grinned. “And you were the one who kicked the ladder over.”

I waved a hand. “Minor detail.”

“We were up there for three hours.”

“Could’ve been worse,” I said, lifting my glass. “At least there was a full moon.”

Kyle snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, because that was definitely the highlight of being trapped on a rooftop with no way down.”

I smirked. “Well, I had fun.”

Kyle’s gaze softened for a second, and it made something in my chest go tight.

The conversation kept going, kept spinning into stories we hadn’t thought about in years. Some were ridiculous, some were sweet, and some made us laugh so hard we had to pause just to breathe.

Somewhere between our fourth and fifth drinks, Kyle rested his chin in his palm, watching me with that unreadable expression. “Be honest. You ever wonder what would’ve happened if we hadn’t…” He waved a hand vaguely. “You know.”

I raised a brow. “If you didn't fuck up?”

Kyle smirked. “Yeah. That.”

I exhaled, swirling the last bit of whiskey in my glass. “I don’t know. Maybe we would’ve just crashed later instead of sooner.”

Kyle studied me for a long moment, his smirk fading into something smaller, something quieter. “Yeah. Maybe.”

The air between us shifted.

Not tense, not heavy—just something. A moment we both felt but neither of us wanted to touch.

So I did what I always did. I lifted my glass, breaking the silence. “To bad ideas.”

Kyle chuckled, clinking his drink against mine. “To the best damn ones we’ve ever had.”

We drank.

And drank.

And drank.

Until the night blurred into something soft and stupid, until the past felt less like a weight and more like a joke we were both in on.

Until I almost forgot why I told myself this was a mistake in the first place.

The bar had thinned out, the jazz music still playing, but softer now, like even it was winding down for the night. My head felt light, my body warm from the whiskey, and when I laughed at something Kyle said—something about how he once convinced a group of tourists that he was an off-duty firefighter—I could feel it all the way in my bones.

Kyle, equally buzzed, ran a hand down his face, exhaling a chuckle. “Shit, what time is it?”

I squinted at my phone, but the numbers blurred together. “Late.”

He nodded, stretching out his legs beneath the table. “You drove here?”

I snorted. “Hell no. Took an Uber.”

Kyle hummed, rolling his empty glass between his palms. “I’d offer to drive you, but, uh…” He gestured vaguely at the collection of glasses on the table.

I smirked. “Yeah, pretty sure neither of us should be behind the wheel.”

He drummed his fingers against the table, then tilted his head. “I live, like, ten minutes away.”

I blinked at him, processing.

Kyle. His place.

A terrible idea.

The worst.

But my head was spinning, and my apartment felt far away, and the thought of squeezing into a silent Uber with a stranger while the night still hummed in my veins made me groan.

Kyle, reading my expression like he always did, smirked. “Come on, Ash. It’s just a place to crash. No funny business.”

I exhaled, dragging a hand through my hair. “No funny business,” I repeated.

He pressed a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I narrowed my eyes, but the truth was, I was too drunk to argue. Too tired to argue.

So I grabbed my purse, wobbling slightly as I stood.

Kyle caught my arm, steadying me. His palm was warm against my skin, familiar in a way that sent a shiver down my spine.

I ignored it.

Kyle threw a few bills onto the table, then grinned at me. “Let’s get out of here, Freckles.”

And just like that, we left together.