Page 17 of When We Were Younger

A fantasy where I get her alone, hold her hand, and finally find out why she didn’t tell me she was going. Why she left me behind. If it made her happy.

I scoff out loud to myself. How pathetic. I am a grown man. Twenty-eight years old and here I am fantasizing about holding my high school sweetheart's hand in mine, and having a little old-fashioned communication.

And I do mean fantasizing.

Often to completion.

Fucking pathetic.

I decide to switch things up and pull a red flannel off a hanger and shrug it over my gray t-shirt, then tuck said t-shirt into my jeans. I flip my head over, letting my hair fall and then gather it into a bun, tying it off with the elastic I keep on my wrist. As I tie it all back, I think of all the times Dorothea would play with my hair, absentmindedly running her fingers through the locks that I kept long just for her.

And when we were a little older and she'd detangle them with purpose, her nails scratching against my scalp as we kissed and sought friction from each other under the stars.

And that's enough of that line of thinking, young man.

I stick my hand into my pocket and pinch my upper thigh, promptly sending my wakening dick back to sleep.

"Daisy May, girl," I coo at my pup, who lets out a little doggy snore in response.

"Daisy," I say again, and the brat of a dog has the nerve to put a paw over her eyes as she ignores me.

"Fine," I sigh, dramatically. "Guess I'll just have to go for a waaa-"

I don't even get the full word 'walk' out before Daisy May is awake and leaping out of the bed, trouncing to the coat rack by the door and taking her leash in her mouth.

"That's a good pup," I tell her, rewarding her with some sweet ear scratches. I leash her up, pop in my headphones, and the two of us make our way downMain Street to Noble Brews before I have the good sense to change my mind.

'Best of Me' by The Starting Line starts to play in my ears as Daisy May and I walk along, slowing only for friendly head nods and the occasional pet for her. We stop outside of the coffee shop so that Daisy May can have a drink of water from one of the dog bowls they keep refilled under the front window.

It's not because I need a moment before I go in. Nope. I'm cool. I'm totally unfazed by the unmistakable woman sitting ten feet away from me, with her back turned, wearing a cream-colored sweater.

I watch her through the window for a moment. She has her phone held up to her ear, and she's gesturing with her free hand. I feel like a deranged weirdo, staring at her like this, but I also don't want to interrupt her. I don't know if she's working or not. Maybe she's doing that thing where you pretend to talk to someone so you don't seem like a loner in public, although that seems unlikely.

Maybe she's changed, but the Dorothea I knew couldn't have cared less about being a loner. In fact, she relished her solitude. I was often the only person she'd allow to occupy her quiet times. She puts the phone down on the table and picks up an oversized pink mug, a novelty of Noble Brews. Each coffee mug is completely different, like it's been pulled straight out of some eccentric auntie's pantry.

I watch as she lowers the mug back down to the table, and even from here, I can see the slightest imprintof pink lipstick on the lip of the cup. It's time to go in before my lizard brain falls down a very dirty rabbit hole at that sight.

"C'mon, Daisy May. Let's go be adults about this."

I push open the door and the bell above us rings as we enter. I nearly curse the business owners in this town and their instance on putting these stupid fucking bells on top of every door. Sometimes a man just wants to enter an establishment without alerting the freaking presses.

But as the insipid bell rings, her blonde hair whips around at lightning speed, as if she'd been anticipating the noise. Our eyes meet, and she drops her gaze to the floor. If she's embarrassed at having been caught, she shouldn't be. I'm just relieved that I'm not the only one who seems to be so apprehensive about this whole situation.

Daisy May has no such nerves, it seems, since she bounds her way right into the shop, dragging me along with her. She goes right for Dorothea, who stretches out her hand. Daisy May skips the hand sniff and goes straight to indulging herself in the ear scratches being doled out. She's already comfortable as hell with her new pal. Go figure.

"Hey, Dorothea," I say, interrupting the incoherent baby talk she's chattering at my dog. She looks up to me, and my knees go weak. It's one thing to carry a torch for a woman from afar, yearning for someone that exists only within the confines of your phone and your memory. It's a whole other thing to have the object ofyour every desire sitting in front of you, letting your dog lick her perfect, flawless skin.

With my former girl sitting in front of me in the flesh, every teenage feeling I've suppressed for the better part of a decade comes barreling back to me in full force. Her eyes are wide, an unthinkable shade of blue, like a collision of stars and galaxies shining up at me from under long, black lashes. They're exactly how I remember them, expressive in a way that is almost unfair to her. Her eyes have always given up all her secrets, at least to me.

Like right now, how they're swimming with emotion, almost as if her irises were pooled with unshed tears. Her hair is a brighter shade of blonde than it was when we were younger. Almost white, if it weren't for the streaks of gold weaved throughout. Messy, sun-kissed highlights. Not ones that were painted on intentionally but instead were hard fought for, like the bronze glow to her skin and the spray of freckles decorating her nose.

Her lips are painted pink, with a tiny smudge from sipping her coffee right at the top of the heart shaped bow that once tasted like Juicy Fruit gum and unspoken promises.

"That seems to be your go-to line, these days," she says, sitting up and away from Daisy May and interrupting my inner musings on the flavor of her skin. She gestures to the chair across from her, and after getting Daisy May settled and lying down under the table, I take a seat.

"Your name is a line, now?" I ask, aiming for playful, but judging by the way she shakes her head and quickly backtracks, I must have come off a little bite-y.

"No, that's not… it's just my name. I haven't heard it in a while. Not outside of the DMV or another government agency, anyway." She runs a finger over the lip of her cup as I furrow my brows.

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