Page 17 of Falling For Us Again

As I drive, I note the changes in town. The once-familiar streets are now peppered with new storefronts and freshly painted houses, yet some landmarks remain untouched, like the old general store with its creaky sign, and the ancient oak tree that marks the town square.

The sun filters through the trees lining the streets, casting dappled shadows on the pavement. I drive by the school where I spent my childhood; its brick walls looking smaller than I remember.

A sleek coffee shop stands where the old diner used to be. I can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia for the greasy burgersand milkshakes I used to enjoy there with Lola and Dylan. The grocery store has expanded, and its parking lot is now bustling with cars. I see familiar faces mingling with new ones, and I wonder how many of them remember me.

My phone rings on the dashboard. It’s Lola calling; I’m late as usual. I swipe to answer the call.

“Hey. I’ll be at the studio soon. I got carried away writing.” I say as I answer the phone.

“Jenna,” There’s a catch in her voice, and she let out a heavy breath. “Jenna, I’m going to be a little late. Something happened with Brian, and I just…”

My brows creased together with worry. “Lola, are you ok? What’s wrong with Brian?”

“Yes, I'm okay.”

“Are you sure? You don’t sound okay. What do you want me to do? Should I come to your place? You sound really upset.”

Lola sniffles. “Can you wait at the cafe for a few minutes? I’ll take you to the studio and tell you everything when we get there.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

The line goes dead.

What could have happened?

I haven’t met her fiancé, Brian, yet, but Lola told me that they’ve been together for a few years and recently got engaged. A sigh escapes me. I’m anxious to know what going on.

The Hartlow House Café comes into view, and that’s when it registers that it is Dylan’s Cafe. My muscles immediately tense, and a pit forms in my stomach.

Oh no…

I press the brakes, tempted to turn the car around. I don't want to run into Dylan, and there's a big chance that he’s somewhere behind those doors. What if he thinks I’m there withthe intention of seeing him? That I'm after him? Or worse, that I haven't been able to get that day in my house out of my mind?

A blush rises to my cheeks, and a knot forms in my stomach simultaneously. I refuse to admit to myself that I can’t stop thinking about his hands on me. I find my mind drifting to thoughts of him when I try to write, and at night, he creeps into my dreams, leaving me weak and wet with longing.

I hate that he made me feel more sexually alive that day than I’ve felt in an entire decade. Perhaps the curse of having your first love being the best sex of your life and haunting you forever is a real thing.

Dylan was my first love and the first boy I had sex with. We were young, but it was mind-blowing. The kind that you read about in romance novels.

I’ve dated a few other men since, came close to getting engaged once, but no one ever made me feel half as alive as he did, and I refuse to settle.

There were many nights when I would think of him and wonder if he missed my body as much as I did his. Then, I’d open a bottle of wine or two to drown that thought away.

A car honk blare behind me, jolting me back to the present and forcing me to make a decision. I find myself pulling into the small driveway of the cafe. I take a deep breath to steady myself.

I already told Lola I’d be here, so I don't have much choice but to wait for her. Let Dylan think whatever he wants; I could care less.

The aroma of sweet pastries, freshly brewed coffee, and fragrant flowers envelope me in a warm embrace as I step inside. My gaze is immediately taken by a display case filled with an array of delectable treats.

I stride to an empty table in the corner of the room, trying to ignore the curious glances from the few patrons inside. My heart skips a beat as I see Dylan standing behind the counter, engagedin conversation with his co-worker, who had introduced herself as Maggie the other day.

She seems captivated by what he is saying, leaning close to the counter hanging on to his every word. He runs a hand lazily through his dark hair, his easy smile and relaxed attitude causing a surge of irritation to course through me.

I click my teeth together as a sharp, unexpected twinge of something that feels suspiciously like jealousy shoots through me.

No, I’m not jealous. I just think it’s unprofessional for them to act this way when they have customers they should be attending to.

He reaches out to tuck a lock of auburn hair behind her ear and her smile deepens.

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