Page 4 of Time After Time (Golden Sands #1)

My thoughts were interrupted when Dad walked through the front door, his face lighting up with a broad smile.

He shot me a playful wink before his eyes turned to Mum.

Instantly, his expression softened with affection, and the tension in his shoulders melted away as he moved toward her.

Without missing a beat, he slid his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

Her laughter bubbled up, light and carefree, as she tilted her head back, her eyes gleaming like a schoolgirl’s.

I couldn’t help but sigh, smiling as I watched.

Dad began swaying his hips in an exaggerated dance move, leading Mum around the kitchen island, their steps clumsy but full of laughter.

Their grins stretched wide, and when their eyes met, it was like they were discovering each other anew, falling in love all over again.

Dad threw his head back, laughing loudly enough to fill the room—a laugh I definitely inherited from him. Then he leaned in, pressing tender kisses to Mum’s lips.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, weaving through the dark, curled strands that reminded me of my own, though richer in colour. She drew him closer, guiding him to tilt his head as he welcomed her with much-anticipated kisses.

Dad’s hand shot toward a pancake, soaked in syrup and topped with a big swirl of whipped cream, right as they were whispering and giggling about something.

Mum gave him a quick, playful smack on the stomach, laughing as she warned him about the mess he was about to make.

He grinned wider, shameless, then wandered over to the sink.

He turned the faucet on too strongly, sending water droplets splashing onto his t-shirt.

Afterwards, he carefully wiped the syrup off his fingers with a paper towel.

“Good morning, my sweetheart,” he greeted, strolling over to me with an affectionate hand on my shoulder. He pressed a resonant kiss on my forehead, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I’m heading over to Jenkins’ house to help with his new garden,” Dad announced, strolling to the blue fridge to grab two water bottles.

Mum rolled her eyes at me, silently telling me that Dad’s plan to visit the Jenkins’ for gardening tips wasn’t exactly new—his excitement had probably been the subject of many whispered late-night talks.

Anticipating his hunger long before noon, she’d already packed a lunchbox filled with fruit and snacks. “I’ll be back for lunch,” he added.

As Dad turned, his gaze found Mum, who was leaning against the kitchen countertop, her hip tilted out as she rested one hand on the surface, the other holding a lunch box.

“I got married,” he declared with a fond smile as he stepped closer.

He took the lunch box from her hand, his fingers brushing hers as he did.

“To the most incredible woman,” he murmured, his smile widening. “I’m a lucky man.”

Mum’s eyes sparkled with joy as Dad finished their exchange with one last kiss. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he headed toward the front door, throwing a grand wave before shutting it behind him. But not without glancing back at me with a teasing look, making me laugh.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Dad’s voice came through the closed door. “Your sister’s been waiting for you in the car for a while.”

I wiped my mouth, realising something had dribbled down the side of it—probably chocolate syrup or whipped cream. “What?” I sputtered, glancing at the plate. It was empty, and from how spotless it looked, no one would have guessed I’d just devoured a few pancakes.

“That’s right,” Mum’s fingers snapped, and her voice cut through my thoughts, pulling my attention away from the now-empty plate.

She hurried over, her face set with urgency.

“Weren’t you girls heading to the stores?

” she asked, nudging me gently toward the half-finished chocolate milk.

With a resigned sigh, I downed the last of the syrupy liquid, my stomach grumbling in protest. Mum’s eyes softened with concern as she added, “She’s been waiting for you for quite some time. ”

“Shit, she’s going to kill me,” I blurted, springing off the barstool in a flurry of motion and nearly toppling it.

Mum’s reproachful gaze followed my exclamation, but I flashed her a sheepish grin as I darted towards her.

I planted a quick kiss on her cheek, managing to coax a soft chuckle from her.

“Feed Mr. Whiskers, please.” Leaning down to plant a kiss on the silky expanse of his ebony fur. I breathed in his comforting scent as he sat regally on another barstool, his eyes half-closed in feline indifference.

“I will!” Just as I was about to close the front door, she called out again. “Take off whatever you’ve got stuck to your top!”

As soon as I stepped outside, the heat hit me, making my skin prickle and my eyes squint.

It pressed in from every side, heavy and unrelenting, but then a breeze stirred, brushing against my face like a soothing hand.

Everything melting away the last vestiges of my unease with a kind of comforting magic that words could barely describe.

Just as I began to savour the peaceful, sunlit moment, a blaring horn cut through the calm, its shrill sound jarring against the backdrop of the summer day. It was unmistakably the honk of a 1987 BMW M5.

Turning toward the source of the sound, I found myself facing Sylvie’s fierce glare. She waved one hand impatiently while her other hand hammered the horn, signalling me to hurry.

Knowing how much she cherished this vintage beast, I practically lunged for the passenger seat, flinging the door open before slowing my movements, aware that she would kill me if I slammed it shut.

“You’re alive,” were the first words to slip from my lips as our eyes met again, a hint of relief and amusement in my voice.

“You won’t be next time you insist on going to the stores early and then making me wake up before you.”

Sylvie and I were only two years apart, making her 22.

She filled her days working as a mechanic, a job she loved in ways that always amazed me.

Sometimes she’d go on about the inner workings of a car, and I’d just nod and hum along, even though I didn’t have a clue what she was saying.

But Sylvie wasn’t just passionate about cars—she was wonderful with them.

People around town said she could fix just about anything.

Any car she worked on seemed to stop making weird noises or acting up.

It was like the vehicles responded to her, and she always knew exactly what was wrong.

Though Sylvie had other interests, like painting—and she was fantastic at that too—cars had always been her true passion.

Even before graduating high school, she started fixing cars for others.

Her reputation spread quickly, and before long, everyone turned to her with their car problems, convinced of her extraordinary skills.

Ironically, this caused the local repair shop owner to feel threatened by her, and Sylvie…

well, she loved to drive by, roll down her window, and give him a smirk, silently letting him know that, yes, she was better than him.

I envied her.

At 20, my interests were all over the place and unclear.

Turning 20 just before summer only made things worse, as my dad felt I’d been out of high school too long and couldn’t spend the rest of my days teaching online French and English or helping him with our family’s fruit business.

So he made it his mission to offer advice and suggest different paths, but nothing ever caught my attention, not in a way that made the blood in my veins burn, that feeling that I had to do it, like I couldn’t live without it.

“What’s that on your shoulder?”

Remembering that my mum had told me to take off whatever I had stuck there, I moved my hand over a few spots until my fingers brushed against something hard. Once I grabbed it, I glanced at it and sighed. “A pamphlet for the University of Barcelona.”

Sylvie hissed, tilting her head to the side. “Uh oh, here it comes. The time when he starts leaving pamphlets everywhere like they just appeared there by magic.” When I didn’t respond or even look her way, she continued. “The architecture program?”

I nodded, frustrated. Before my eyes could focus on the words, I scrunched the pamphlet between my hands and let it drop to my feet, knowing that as soon as we reached our destination, I’d toss it into the nearest trash can.

“Hey.” Sylvie’s voice cut through my swirling thoughts, and I felt the light pressure of her elbow nudging me. “Are you worried?” Her voice was soft, but her eyes were sharp, searching my face for any hint of what was bothering me.

I didn’t respond, my hands tightening around the armrest as my mind raced. With a groan, I tipped my head back, staring at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. My jaw clenched, teeth grinding, and I exhaled sharply through my nose.

Sylvie had an uncanny way of reading people, like she could sense the tiniest shifts in my expression.

Her gaze seemed to pierce through the walls I’d built, as if my every emotion was laid bare.

She watched me for a moment, her brow furrowing before her lips parted.

“Everything will be fine,” she said, her voice firm.

The corners of her eyes crinkled with sincerity. “You’ll find something.”

“Let’s listen to some music,” I suggested, my voice lighter now, an almost chuckle slipping out as I reached for the radio.

As the first notes filled the air, a bit of the tension in my chest loosened.

The thoughts that had been swirling in my mind tried to creep back, but the beat pulled me in.

Without thinking, I started singing along, and soon our voices rose over the song.

I glanced over at Sylvie, who was expertly handling the wheel.

Sunlight spilt through the window, catching the strands of her hair as they fluttered in the breeze.

Her profile, bathed in light and shadow, seemed to shift with the movement of the car.

For a moment, I forgot to breathe, mesmerised by the way the light played on her face, making her look even more beautiful than I remembered.

The eerie feeling from my dream still hung around, as if I hadn’t seen her in ages.

Everything clicked into place in that instant.

All I wanted was for this summer to last forever.