Current location:	bedroom
Current mood:	accomplished
Current music:	Daisy - Ben Lee

Short Story


Title: Untitled as of now
Pairing: Taylor/Girl
Rating: PG-13
Words: 6,721
Notes: This is the first thing I've written in months, and well personally, I think it's not all that great. As usual. lol But it's something I just needed to get out. Thank you to Alex (scarabeo), my lovely little beta, for reading this over before I posted. I really appreciate your suggestions. I love you, dear. I hope ya'll like it! :)

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What you fear is your desire

If you were to ask me about my first love, my mind would conjure up a beautiful image of a young man. A young man with a contagious smile and shaggy blond hair that always fell into bright blue eyes that held a constant glimmer of playfulness. The image has forever been burned into my memory, and no matter how many times I’ve tried to erase it, it remains right where it has always been, refusing to budge. It’s not that I wanted to forget; sometimes it’s just too hard to remember. It would have made life so much easier if I could have just forgotten. Not a day passed where the image didn’t haunt me, reminding me of my mistakes and filling most of the years I’ve lived with regret all because of that one summer.

My first love has a name. My first love was Taylor Hanson. I knew of Taylor, but I didn’t know him well. He was someone who was considered popular; whereas, I was, well, not so popular. I wasn’t a complete social outcast, but I wasn’t at the top of the hierarchy either. I sat comfortably in the middle and floated about with all sorts of different people. I liked the ability to flit about as I wished. I wasn’t one for limitations. Limitations annoyed me. They still do.

We didn’t talk much. Only the occasional “hi” and polite smile in the hallway. We had a few classes together throughout high school, but that was the extent of our relationship up until November of our sophomore year.

Girls, freshmen and seniors alike, all swooned over Taylor Hanson. Not only was he gorgeous, but he was nicer than anyone who looked like him should have been. He was a genuine boy, which may have been the reason for his popularity besides his looks. The fact that he had a personality as well as good looks was like winning the fucking lottery. Finding a guy that possessed both qualities was such a rare find. He didn’t play sports, but the fact that he could rock the piano, guitar, and drums as well as evoke such vivid and lively emotions with his voice and ability to write incredible lyrics - all done with unimaginable passion - just added to his appeal. Girls ate that shit up.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t think Taylor was attractive. I would have been insane not to think so. Taylor possessed a beauty I’d never seen before, but I didn’t waste my energy on trying to gain his attention because I knew he could have any girl in the school, so why would he want me? No, I’m not insecure. In fact, I have plenty of self-confidence, but I just never saw Taylor liking me. I had no reason to think such a thing. I hadn’t really given Taylor a second glance, so why would he give me one?

Some random Tuesday was when both of our lives changed. Actually, it’s not so random anymore. It was Tuesday, November 9th of our sophomore year to be exact. I had quietly been working on our Spanish assignment with my friend, Lena, when Taylor sat down beside me in the open desk across the aisle, interrupting the discussion I was having with Lena.

“Nice job on your presentation,” he smiled casually, referring to the report I had given at the beginning of the class period on Frida Kahlo.

“Thanks,” I nodded, offering a soft smile, slightly confused as to why he was talking to me. We had never exchanged more than one word before.

“So, uh, listen,” he started, glancing to his left quickly, which amused me to no end. Never had I seen Taylor Hanson nervous before. He was always so calm and laidback. He later admitted to me how nervous he really was, saying he thought his heart was going to explode out of his chest it was beating so hard. “I was wondering if you could, maybe, like, tutor me. I’m not doing so hot, and I know you’re pretty smart.”

“Uh,” I mumbled, glancing at Lena, who was watching us curiously with a small smirk etched across her face.

“You don’t have to,” he interrupted, running a hand through his shaggy hair, pushing it away from his eyes unsuccessfully as it just fell back into place. “I mean I’m sure you have a lot going on and what not. Just thought I’d ask,” he said, moving to get up.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll help you out.”

“Really?” he asked with a hopeful smile, his blue eyes shining.

“Yeah,” I nodded for emphasis, offering a small smile.

“Cool. Well, uh, I’ll call you tonight.”

“Sure,” I said, writing down my number on a scrap of paper and handing it to him.

“Thanks, Lisha.”

“Yup.”

I couldn’t say I wasn’t confused by Taylor’s approaching me. It confused the hell out of me. I didn’t understand why he hadn’t just asked one of his many minions.

It was two weeks later, though, when I found out that Taylor hadn’t been failing Spanish at all. It was in the beginning of our third tutoring session when his cover was blown. Hell, we hadn’t even started that day when I found out.

I was running late as always - a distinct quality of mine. A quirk, I call it - when I rounded the corner to enter the school library. There he stood conversing with our Spanish teacher in perfect Spanish. The little liar had been caught in the act. I wasn’t exactly furious. I was more confused than anything. But I never did say that Taylor Hanson was normal nor predictable, and not much of what he did made sense.

Senora Krebill saw me standing off to the side, watching their interaction, when she greeted me with a “Buenas tardes, Senorita Ashton,” and a smile before excusing herself from her conversation with Taylor.

Taylor’s hands were stuffed deep within the pockets of his tattered and faded jeans as he turned to face me, and the unmistakable look of guilt was etched across his face. He could hardly look me in the eye.

“You’re not really failing Spanish, are you?”

He smiled sheepishly, his cheeks reddening slightly and his gaze finally meeting mine. “No.”

“So why did you ask me to tutor you?”

“Truthfully?” he asked, removing his hands from his pockets and running one through his hair, a nervous habit of his.

“Y…yeah,” I stuttered, getting caught up in the intense gaze of his blue eyes.

He smiled softly and then finally spoke, simply stating, “I like you.”

“Excuse me?”

He chuckled lightly. “I like you, Lisha.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Do you like me?” he asked when I hadn’t responded after a few seconds.

“Why didn’t you just ask me out on a date?” I asked, completely ignoring his question.

I apparently must have caught him off guard because he blushed and began stuttering, something people rarely saw Taylor Hanson do. “I…I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t sure you liked me.”

“How do you know I like you now? I don’t know much about you.”

“I don’t know,” was his reply again. “Look, do you like me or not? If not, just tell me so, and I’ll leave.”

My lips curled into a small smile at his behavior, which was weighted by insecurity and slight frustration, and I shook my head.

“No?” he questioned. “No, you don’t like me? Or no, you don’t want me to leave?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he asked, his voice rising slightly and near desperation.

“Yes, I don’t want you to leave.”

“You like me?”

“Maybe,” I shrugged, smiling coyly.

“Well, in that case, Lisha, would you like to go out?”

“I guess. I have nothing better to do,” I teased.

For our first date, Taylor took me to a local café for hot chocolate, poetry, and as quality of conversation as two high-schoolers could have. He walked me home, and we shared a kiss on my front porch with my little brother watching through the curtains in the living room window. I had kissed plenty of boys before, but never had I kissed a boy like Taylor Hanson. Kissing a boy like him was nerve-wracking. I’m sure he felt my lips tremble against his, bumping clumsily. My head was spinning, and my body was shaking, but I wasn’t sure if it was because I nervous or if it was because of the kiss.

His lips were slightly chapped but still laced with a hint of his hot chocolate. He tasted sweeter than I imagined, and ever since then, every time I’ve just smelled hot chocolate, I think of our first kiss and what it led to. When his lips first grazed mine, I knew. I knew I was going to fall in love with him. When he pulled away, he smiled brightly at me and asked me on a second date.

From that moment on, we were inseparable. We were your typical high school romance. We fell for each other hard and fast, and it continued on in a whirlwind of clumsy and heated kisses, fumbling and roaming hands, thrusting hips, and sacred and cherished “I love you”s for almost two and a half years.

We ended our relationship at the end of the summer after our senior year, weeks before we left for our first year of college. We did our best to have a good summer and normal relationship, but deep down, we knew what the end of the summer would bring, and that knowledge marred everything good about that summer. Every day that passed brought us one day closer to a fate we weren’t so sure we wanted but knew was inevitable.

We met at a park close to his house. There at a park defined by innocence, we ended our two and a half year relationship tearfully and with breaking hearts full of love. We had come to a mutual agreement to end our relationship, no matter how much we loved one another. We knew a long distance relationship with me in New York and him in Texas would be far too difficult on us. We would be committing relationship suicide, only setting it up for failure, and we wanted to remember our relationship with a smile rather than as something stained with regret and bitterness.

And although we refused to say it aloud, we had dreams for ourselves that didn’t involve one another. We wanted to know what a life was like without the other beside us every step of the way. We wanted to explore, and we wanted to see what life had to offer each of us.

Taylor Hanson was my first everything, and letting him go at the end of the summer after our senior year was the most painful thing I had experienced in my short life of eighteen years. It still is to this day. I had been convinced that I was going to marry that man. I was convinced that he was it for me, and I so desperately wanted him to be.

A week later, I saw him off as he left for Texas. Zoe, his youngest sister, held my hand as I cried silently, both of us waving goodbye as he pulled out of the driveway, taking my heart with him unbeknownst to the both of us.

I didn’t know when I’d see or talk to him again, but he called me when he arrived and had settled in, claiming that he missed me already. I called him when I had settled in New York a week later, telling him I wished he was with me. We called each other weekly those first few months while we were away, and we got together frequently during Thanksgiving and Christmas break.

It was weird trying to be just friends. We still told each other we loved one another, became jealous over other people we didn’t date, and made promises we weren’t sure we could ever keep. Nothing had changed but the label and physicality of our relationship, and even that hadn’t changed much. Over breaks, we still kissed and let our hands roam. We had never been just friends, and so we didn’t know how to do it. Every time we were together, our relationship reverted back to what it used to be in high school. We didn’t know how to let go because we didn’t want to.

Then it happened. He met a girl the month after we had returned to school after Christmas break. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and eventually and perhaps unfortunately, months to years without so much as a brief phone call or e-mail to say ‘hey’, to update each other about our lives, or to even say it was time we went our separate ways. We could both claim we did our best to keep in touch, saying life got in the way as people do so as not to feel guilty about losing touch, but we both knew that would be a lie.

Part of me felt betrayed. After all of our years together, he didn’t have the decency to officially end whatever it was that we had. Didn’t he owe it to me? But I guess I was just as much at fault as he was.

I received random updates from my mom as I’m sure he did as well from his mom, both of them hoping that somehow that would bring us back together. Most of the time, I didn’t mind the updates on Taylor’s life, but truthfully, it hurt to hear how he had moved on without me. And even though I had done the same, I still thought about him almost every day, the updates my mom gave me only reminding me of what we had shared and what we had lost. Did he think about me the way I thought about him? The updates convinced me he didn’t and made me feel pathetic about the fact that I still thought about him.

Soon the updates stopped, and I sensed my mom was trying to hide something from me. But I never bothered to ask. Deep down I knew what had happened, and I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want concrete evidence because if no one said it aloud, then it never happened. But that had only lasted so long until I had the pleasure of running into an acquaintance from high school in the city who felt the need to destroy the reality I had created for myself, informing me of what I had known all along but refused to admit - that Taylor had married. She then felt the need to ask if I was okay, and I felt the strong and incessant urge to kick her in the face.

I have no problem admitting I was jealous. The love I felt for him was of the wild and passionate sort, the kind that summer love was made of. And while the intensity of those feelings may have dimmed after we lost touch, sitting dormant in the shadows of my heart, it never fully went away.

I dated here and there before I settled down happily with Josh. We dated for almost three years before he proposed, and with a dull ache in my heart and a flashback memory to Taylor underneath the stars enveloped by the cold of winter promising to marry me someday, I accepted.

The next time I saw Taylor I was home visiting. Four years after we’d lost touch.

I had been leaving a local coffee shop, in fact, the one Taylor had taken me on our first date. We frequented that café all through our years in high school, and I hadn’t been there since I had left for my freshman year of college.

I bid farewell to Julie, the owner, who I had just spent the last half hour catching up with, and was busy digging through my purse for my keys when I collided hard with someone walking past the entrance outside.

“Ow,” I mumbled, pressing my hand to my forehead that had collided with their bony shoulder.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry.”

“No, no, it’s my fault. I wasn’t watching where…” I started, beginning to pull my hand from my head.

“Lisha?” came the whisper of disbelief.

My body froze from the familiarity of the voice. Opening my eyes, I looked up, and my past from seven years ago was staring back at me, the shock stealing the breath from my lungs so hard that I had to remind myself to remember to breathe.

“Taylor,” I breathed. “Hi.”

“Wow,” he murmured. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” I smiled, blushing slightly, the familiar butterflies returning to their rightful place as the sound of my heart pounding resounded in my ears. It amazed me and scared me that after all these years he could still have such an effect on me. “You too.”

“How have you been? Are you still in New York?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I’m just home visiting for a few days. What about you? Are you still in Texas?”

“No, no. I moved back here not too long after I graduated.”

“Yeah,” I whispered, taking him in.

Time hadn’t changed him too much. He certainly had matured, but the glimpses of the old Taylor, the Taylor I had fallen in love with, still remained. We stood, smiling slightly, getting used to the new people we had become. He still had the same shaggy hair. A few days worth of stubble covered his face, and it suited him well. He looked every part a man.

“This is crazy,” he finally spoke. “I can’t believe I’m actually seeing you after all these years.”

“I know,” I agreed, shaking my head. “It’s almost surreal. It’s been a long time,” I whispered.

I could literally see Taylor’s mind flashing back to how our relationship had ended when the look of guilt crossed his face. A look I had come to know well. He was about to speak again, an apology I was sure, when a far off call of his name interrupted him. We both turned to look at the source of his interruption, and I saw a gorgeous blonde making her way towards us.

“Hey,” she smiled, wrapping her arm around his.

He returned her smile and then turned back to me. “Lisha, this is my wife, Kelsey. Kelsey, this is an old friend of mine, Lisha.”

“Oh wow, Lisha, I’ve heard so much about you,” she grinned, reaching out to shake my hand.

“Good things, I hope,” I smiled politely.

She smiled in response before turning to look at Taylor. “Honey, you ready to go? We told your parents we’d be over there by four.”

“Yeah, sure. Listen, Lisha, how much longer are you in town?”

“Um, until Sunday. So four more days.”

“Well, we should get together sometime for coffee while you’re still in town to catch up.”

“Uh, yeah, that’d be nice. I’m staying at my parents’ house. So just call there.”

“All right. Well, it was good to see you.”

“You too. It was nice meeting you, Kelsey.”

She nodded, smiling, and I watched the two of them walk away down the street. I couldn’t lie and say it didn’t hurt that Taylor had only introduced me as an old friend. We had spent two and a half years of our lives madly in love, and I was only an old friend to him now. If I ever needed closure, there it was.

Taylor never did call the rest of the four days that I was in Tulsa. I later learned it was because he was too scared. Our unexpected meeting had brought back too many memories, and he was confused by how he felt, by the fact that he still felt so much love for me even though he was married and had been convinced that he had gotten over me. I knew exactly how he felt.

Josh and I called off our engagement six months after I returned to New York. Josh was the one who called off the wedding, saying that ever since I had returned from Oklahoma that I just wasn’t into it anymore, and it was true. Like for Taylor, our unexpected meeting had rattled me. My mind kept replaying our relationship over and over again, taunting me about what I used to have and what I no longer could have. I wondered where we would be and what our relationship would be like if we had stayed together, and thinking about such things made it hard for me to continue on in a relationship with Josh and pay our relationship the attention it deserved. I realized it wasn’t fair to either of us for me to continue on in a relationship with him when my mind was preoccupied by another man and when I couldn’t love him the way he wanted me to; there was no choice but for me to agree with Josh when he ended our relationship.

I couldn’t help but wonder if it would always be like this every time I saw Taylor – my every relationship ruined just because every time I saw him all of my feelings for him came back and impaired my ability to move on. Would it always be this hard to get over him?

It was then, after Josh and I ended, I convinced myself I wasn’t still in love with Taylor and did an outstanding job of believing it. It was the only way I knew to move on. It was easier to lie. It was always easier to lie than to face the truth. If there was one thing I had ever learned from our relationship and from loving Taylor, that was it.

Three months after Josh and I ended our relationship, I found myself moving back to Tulsa. With the help of my parents, I found a reasonably priced, quaint, little house only fifteen minutes from where I worked. My mom and I spent many weekends decorating and furnishing the house, and soon, I was able to call it my own. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for one person.

One night, almost two months since I had moved back home, a night I had planned to curl up on the couch with a cup of coffee and watch America’s Next Top Model, a knock on my door interrupted my wild plans for the evening.

Pulling my sweater tighter around my body, my padded feet carried me to the door, curious as to who was visiting me, and I hesitantly opened it to see the boy responsible for calling off my engagement.

“Taylor? What are you doing here?"

For a brief moment, I wondered how he knew I had moved back to Tulsa and how he knew where I lived, but it was easy to figure out. His mom. Five years later and our mothers still traded updates about our lives, still hoping for that day when we would try our hand at a relationship again.

“I’m really sorry to just come over like this, but I didn’t know where to go,” he rushed.

“Uh, it’s okay,” I said, stepping aside and opening the door wider. “Come on in.”

Taylor stepped passed me and into the house, and I caught a whiff of his cologne. I closed my eyes, relishing the familiar scent. He still smelled the same after all these years, and it triggered a million memories of our relationship. The first time he had ever kissed me, pulling me close in his arms and my body shaking. The first ‘I love you’ whispered against my lips in the darkness of his backyard. The first time we made love in my childhood bedroom, his scent and passion enveloping me. Our hug goodbye the day he left for Texas. A picture show before my eyes. That Tuesday in Spanish class to the last time I saw him almost a year ago. Seven years of memories flooded my senses.

I heard him stalk his way to the living room, and shaking myself from my trance, I followed and found him sitting on the couch, his head hung low and held in his hands.

”She’s cheating,” he whispered, his voice strained, when he heard me enter the living room. “I give her six fucking years, and she’s cheating.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, not sure of what to say.

“Yeah, well, me too,” he replied, the regret evident in the tone of his voice and his eyes rimmed by redness. Evidence that he had been crying.

I hesitantly sat next to him on the couch, careful not to touch him. I didn’t even want to know what his skin upon mine would do when just the mere sight of him reverted me to a shaking mess.

“I’m sorry for just showing up like this,” he apologized.

“No, it’s okay. It’s fine.”

“Don’t lie,” he smiled softly. “It’s a little awkward, I mean. Showing up when I haven’t seen you in like a year, complaining about my wife cheating on me, especially when you consider our past.”

“Yeah, okay, it’s a little weird,” I laughed. “But it’s fine. I understand you just needed somewhere to go.”

“Sure your husband won’t mind?”

“Uh, I’m not married. I’m single, actually,” I corrected, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought…my mom said you were seeing some guy, Josh, was it?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, diverting my gaze. “We were engaged. We broke it off about five months ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

I went to respond with a “Don’t be. It’s not your fault,” but it was then I realized that, ironically, he was to blame for the end of my relationship with Josh. I know that technically it was my fault since I had let Taylor affect me so much, but he was the guy I couldn’t get over for good, the guy that had such an effect on me. Just when I thought I was finally moving on, he would reappear in my life, stirring up emotions I thought that had faded. He deserved some of the blame.

“It’s fine.”

“Everything’s just fine, huh?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “I guess.”

“So you’re not seeing anyone?”

“No,” I shook my head.

“Is that why you moved back to Tulsa? The calling off of your engagement?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I needed something different. I needed a change.”

He nodded as if he understood; I’m not sure he did. “How are things working out?”

“Good. Things have been good,” I said with some optimism. “I’m, uh, working over at St. John’s Medical Center for the Social Services department.”

“Yeah, that’s what my mom said. That’s good,” he smiled.

I nodded, not sure of what to say. What do you say to your ex-boyfriend, the love of your life, who you haven’t seen in over a year and who just found his wife has been cheating on him? Exactly. What could I say that hadn’t already been said? What was I allowed to say?

At a point in our lives, we had been able to say anything to one another. Rarely did we struggle for words, but now, it almost felt as though we were strangers. We hadn’t had a real conversation in over four years, almost five. I didn’t know who he was anymore, and he knew just as less about me. Did he still play piano? Did he still write songs in his free time? Did his right knee still bounce all over the place when he was anxious? Did he still brush his teeth in the shower when he showered in the mornings? What was he doing with his life? How did he pay the bills and put food on the table?

We knew the teenagers we once were, the reckless, carefree teenagers in love, but we didn’t know the adults we had become. The experiences of life had changed us. Maybe not by much or maybe completely. Nonetheless, we weren’t the people we once knew, and we had no idea how to relate to one another. We couldn’t just pick up where we had left off.

“I’m sorry I never called when I last saw you,” he stated suddenly.

I went to speak, but Taylor cut me off. “Let me guess. It’s fine,” he smirked.

The blood rushed to my cheeks, and a wave of heat passed through my body, signifying my embarrassment.

“I was scared,” he continued, not giving me a chance to respond.

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

“Of me?”

He nodded. “Of you,” he repeated, his eyes boring into mine.

“Why?”

“Truthfully?”

I nodded, my mind flashing back to the moment he had first revealed his feelings for me so many years ago. I didn’t know at that time it would turn into what it had – a five year struggle to get over my first love. I never would have guessed that we would have ended up here - previous lovers who hardly knew one another anymore.

“Y…yeah,” I stuttered, getting caught up in the memory.

“When I saw you, it brought back all these memories of our past together. It kind of shook me, ya know?” he breathed, short of breath and his voice wavering. It was easy to see he was nervous. “I just hadn’t expected that.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded, reaffirming my answer.

“Do you still think about us?”

“Of course,” I replied without missing a beat, and when I realized what I had said, a small blush crept into my cheeks. “I mean, it’s hard for me not to,” I blurted out, trying to cover up my blunder. “You were my first love. It’s only natural, right?”

“Do you still love me?”

“Taylor,” I started, becoming increasingly more uncomfortable with the turn our conversation had taken.

“Do you still love me?”

I sighed, lifting my head to look at him. “I’ll always love you, Taylor.”

“I know that, but do you still love me?”

“What does it matter? We’re not together anymore.”

“It matters,” he stated quietly.

I closed my eyes, running a hand through my hair. I didn’t know what he wanted from me, and I didn’t understand why he was pressing the matter.

“I still love you, Lisha,” he whispered.

My head snapped up at his words, my eyes wide in surprise by what he was saying. “Taylor, no. You’re just upset with Kelsey,” I argued, shaking my head, refusing to let the words reach my ears and register in my mind.

I had waited so long to hear what he was saying, but I had learned to numb myself to the ever present ache of love for him. I wasn’t ready to admit my lie because I wasn’t ready to deal with the consequences of realizing I was still in love with him. I had worked so hard to convince myself of my lie so I wouldn’t be forever plagued by my feelings for him, so that I could live a normal life. I wasn’t going to let that hard work go to waste when admitting my feelings for him would only most likely lead to disaster. Because how could we continue a relationship five years later when we even hardly knew one another?

“No, no I’m not. Well, yeah, I am, but that’s not why I’m telling you this. I’ve always loved you. When I saw you last time, God, I couldn’t breathe. It hit me so hard, and I couldn’t believe that I had ever let you go. It was the biggest mistake of my life.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I whispered, tears in my eyes.

“Lisha, do you still love me?”

My gaze met his, the helplessness and fear radiating in my eyes, and I watched as realization passed over his face followed by disappointment as he searched my eyes and recognized the look that resided in them. He nodded in response as if he understood; maybe he did.

“It’s too late, isn’t it?”

I stared back at him, not really seeing him. My mind was too busy reeling from what had just perspired in my living room seconds ago to focus on anything.

“Yes,” I whispered.

He nodded. “I thought so,” he whispered defeated, his head hanging low. “Uh, I guess I’ll just go.”

“I think that’d be best,” I agreed quietly.

His blue eyes followed my movements as I made my way to the front door and opened it. He watched me for a few more seconds while I refused to look at him before rising from the couch and making his way towards me. He stopped in front of me, looking down at me. I didn’t dare raise my gaze to meet his for fear of giving in. “It’s easier to lie,” I reminded myself.

His rough and calloused hands cupped my face, and he leaned forward to drop a kiss on my forehead. “I’ve always loved you, Lish. I always will. You were my best mistake.”

My eyes dropped close, and the rush of wind washing over my body informed me that he had left. A few tears escaped from behind my eyelids, and I slowly shut the door, placing my hand on it and listening to the roar of an engine in the distance.

“I love you, too,” I whispered, my head pressed up against the door as my hand trailed down the smooth wood.

I stepped away, gasping for air, when the reality of what I had just done had settled in and my tears increased. What was I so afraid of? Why couldn’t I let him back in? Wasn’t this what I had always wanted?

I reminded myself of how much we had changed in five years. I didn’t know him anymore. He wasn’t the Taylor I had fallen in love with. Yes, parts of him remained, but some parts of him were completely new and unknown to me. How could I still love him when I didn’t even know him anymore? I loved the old Taylor, the Taylor I used to know.

No more than ten minutes after Taylor left, I realized I couldn’t be in the house. Not while his scent still lingered in the air, haunting and reminding me our past and what I had just foolishly given up.

Slipping my feet into a pair tennis shoes, I grabbed my keys off of the table by the door and rushed out into the winter air. I erupted into a coughing fit immediately as the harsh winter wind stole my breath. The dark sky was beginning to spit snow, the first snow fall of the season, and the melting snowflakes mixed with the tears readily streaming down my face. They marked their territory with my running black mascara and froze to my face, reminding me of heartache. I blindly made my way to my car and tried to stick my key in the car door lock but found myself having little success.

“Lish,” came the soft but strained voice.

My body jerked, startled by the voice, and my head whipped to my left to see Taylor approaching me, his hands buried deep within his pockets and his breath visible in the night air.

“I couldn’t leave,” he said.

“Taylor,” I interrupted, shaking my head.

“No,” he stated with some force. “Just let me talk. I know what you said, but I couldn’t leave you again. I can’t let you go. I made that mistake once. I’m not doing it again.”

“Taylor, we hardly even know each other anymore,” I argued.

“Then let us get to know one another again,” he contended, taking a step closer to me.

Instinctually, I moved closer to my car, only to have my back met by the cold metal of the driver-side door, sending a shiver through my body.

“I always knew you were the one, Lisha. I knew it from the moment I saw you freshman year in English class, and it took me a year later to work up the courage to even talk to you.”

“Taylor,” I started again, shaking my head and my eyes watering.

“Let me love you,” he urged softly, moving even closer until he was standing just a few feet in front of me.

“Why?” I whispered, a few tears streaming down my cheeks.

A soft smile crept across his tired face. “Because I do it best,” he stated simply.

My heart pounded hard in my chest as my tears increased, and a sob escaped my throat, sounding like a choked gasp.

“Please, Lisha,” he pleaded quietly, stepping closer to me and reaching out to wipe away my tears.

My eyes closed, a few tears squeezing their way out from behind my eyelids, as my head drooped forward in defeat. There was no way I could deny him like I had foolishly believed I could moments before. The man before me was my heart and soul. He always was, and he always would be, no matter how hard I tried to deny it. He had taken a part of my heart with him through the years, and here he was, ready to take my whole heart all over again.

I reached up, placing my hand over his that still cupped my cheek, and I nodded, finally lifting my head to look at him.

“Yeah?” he asked, his eyebrows raising slightly in hope.

“Yeah,” I nodded, smiling softly through my tears. “I’m just so scared,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“I know. Trust me. I know, but this is it,” he whispered, rubbing his thumb back and forth against my cheekbone. “This is it,” he repeated before leaning down.

I held my breath, knowing he was going to kiss me. It had been almost five years since I had last tasted his lips. Five years since his lips had grazed mine.

His lips stilled before mine in hesitation, our breath mingling. I could feel his warm breath caress my skin, and that alone excited me and frazzled my nerves. At least this time I could say I had kissed a boy like Taylor Hanson.

He was breathing heavily already as was I, and when his lips brushed softly against mine, I could have sworn it was better than I had ever remembered. He kissed me gently once, allowing us to remember how the other tasted and felt, as if we had forgotten. He kissed me again, applying more pressure, and I didn’t hesitate in responding. He moved closer to me, pinning my body against the car with his. The hand that cupped my cheek remained there while the other slipped around my back, pressing my body to his. My hands slipped up his chest and then wrapped tightly around his body through his open coat as his kisses became more demanding, and I returned his passion through my kisses, eliciting a low groan from deep within his throat.

Five years of pent-up emotions were released in those kisses, like blood coursing through our veins, and it was if I had never forgotten how to love him. It was hard to believe that after all these years I was in his arms, kissing him as if my life depended on it.

Tears continued to stream down my face, mixing with our kisses, and he finally captured my bottom lip between his own, sucking lightly as he pulled away and rubbing my tears into my skin with his thumb. Smiles graced our faces as he pressed his forehead against mine, eyes still closed.

“So you like me?” he questioned, reminding me of the first time he had asked me out.

“Maybe,” I shrugged, playing along.

“Well, in that case, Lisha, would you like to go out?”

“I guess. I have nothing better to do,” I teased.

For our second first date, Taylor took me to the same café he did in high school for hot chocolate and poetry and ended our date on my front porch, lips laced with hot chocolate and brushing against one another in a familiar way.