Page 25 of When We Were Younger

Daisy May finishes her treat and I take a sip of my drink, allowing the sweet chocolate and fresh peppermint to sweep my senses and distract me from the fact that Stephen still hasn't moved his arm. Although we're still not touching, the heat radiating off his skin makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Do you have any tree lighting ceremonies like this out in Malibu?" Stephen asks, sitting back but keeping his arm behind me. I'm thankful for the reprieve from my racing thoughts.

"If anyone tried to light a real tree in Malibu, they'd set the entire coast ablaze. We mostly wrap our surfboards in tinsel and put Rudolph noses on the front of our G-Wagons. There is a giant Christmas tree at The Grove in Los Angeles, though. And the Santa Monica Pier usually gets all festive. I've spent a lot of Christmases up in San Francisco with Keeks and our friend Rachel. At least up north the weather gets chilly, so it actually feels like the holidays."

"So, this must be nice, huh? Fox Hole is like a cheesy holiday movie this time of year," he says, gesturing vaguely towards the crowd of people congregating. It's almost eight o’clock, which means the mayor will be doing her speech and lighting the tree any minute.

"Yeah, it's exactly how I remember it being when we were younger. Over the top. School kids forced to volunteer or sing or reenact the manger scene from thebible. Feels like this place is exactly the same as it always was."

"And you never did like it that way, did you?"

I show my agreement with a low laugh, though there's no humor behind it. "I suppose I didn't. I used to sit at these town events and wish that you and I were anywhere else."

"And what do you wish now?" He asks.

That we were seventeen again so your arm would be around my shoulder instead of five centimeters behind it.

As I try to formulate some kind of appropriate answer to his question, I start to feel that indescribable stickiness that happens when you know you're being watched. Like the eyes of the people watching are all over you, their essence coating your skin. It's just like at Noble Brews the other day, or at Liquor World my first day in town. It seems that inquiring minds of Fox Hole can't help but wonder what's happening between Stephen and I this week.

Guess what, Fox Hole folks? I have no idea.

Though when I look around, the eyes on us are not inquisitive, nor are they onus.Nope. They're all directed at me, and every single one of them is full of scorn.

"Stephen," I say, leaning in and giving him my best stage whisper, "Why is our fifth-grade teacher staring at me like I killed her puppy?"

He sucks in a breath, then clears his throat, pointedly.

"Yeah, about that. There may have been a wholething back when you left, and everyone found out we were…no longer together. People took sides. It was weird and uncomfortable."

"People took sides when we broke up? Does the whole town hate me?" My jaw drops as I interrupt him, and my stomach sinks. I knew the people in this town could be petty–just look at Mrs. Danfield's uppity ass earlier–but to take sides on a breakup? Even worse, to still hate me for something that had nothing to do with them? I should've stayed in Los Angeles. At least all my fake friends there pretend to like me and would only talk shit about me behind my back.

"No one hates you. I think this town just has its fair share of judgmental creeps who spent too much time invested in the goings on of two teenagers almost a decade ago, and now those creeps don't know what to do with themselves seeing us together and friendly again. And for the record, the people who matter, like my parents, the McKennas; none of them took sides. Except Delilah. She never forgave me for letting you go."

He gives me a half smile, but there's nothing behind it. The painful indifference crushes me.

"And what about you? Did you hate me? Do you have an ugly doll named Dorothea that you stick pins in when you’re pissed? Is that why I get those random cramps that feel like someone is punching me from inside of my uterus every so often?" I place a hand on my lower stomach as I feel one of those pains hit me just now. It's probably psychosomatic, but I look to seeif Stephen is fiddling with a needle and ribbon in his pocket anyway. His arm finally finds its way off the bench and fully around my shoulders. He squeezes gently and pulls me a little bit closer to him.

"No. There is no doll. There was never a doll. I hated the whole charade. It was mortifying. Everywhere I went, people asked me about you with no regards to my feelings. Nobody seemed to give a shit that you and I had gone through something. It was hurtful. And I didn't like the way they talked about you, especially when you weren't here to defend yourself."

That catches me off guard. Sure, Stephen is being kind and friendly to me now, but we've got years between what I did to him and who we are now. It's hard to imagine him hurtingforme, even after I left.

"And now?" I ask softly.

"Now? I don't give a fuck what any of those bored wine moms think. I'm just happy you're here." Our thighs brush, and he starts to move his hand up and down, gently caressing my arm. It's all too much. The stares, his words, his hands on me. I look up at the sky, blinking back tears as I take deep breaths, trying to swallow my emotions.

"I have a hard time believing that" I say, and my voice breaks. My eyes betray me, and I feel the lone, hot tear start to roll down my cheek.

"Truth or dare, Dorothea?" He reaches out with his free hand and brushes the tear away with his thumb.

"Dare," I answer, still looking up. I can't bring myself to face him, but he doesn't seem to care. He captures mychin with his thumb and his forefinger, bringing my gaze to meet his. His green eyes glisten, reflecting the millions of twinkling lights surrounding us.

"I dare you to believe me sweetheart, because it's the truth. You were my best friend, and you're back. You're here with me, and I never thought I'd get this again. They can't take it away from me." He smiles at me, a soft, slow curve of his lips that sends shivers careening down my spine. Our faces seem to inch closer and closer to each other, one millimeter at a time. His hand on my shoulder stops caressing and starts gripping, creating tension like a rubber band ready to snap between us.

I watch his eyes darken, pupils widening as they peer into mine, and then his gaze drops lower to my lips. I feel it in my stomach, a heady warmth building inside of me as I watch his tongue peek out, wetting his own lips as the gravity between us pulls us closer, closer, closer.

My vision blurs, and the bubbly warmth in my belly turns into a shameful heat. From a potent thrill to an embarrassing, unsettled mess. I can feel the eyes of the town on us as we sit here, and it's wrong. It's all wrong. I shouldn't be doing this. Stephen isn't mine to be close to. He isn't mine to embrace. He isn't mine to kiss. I shouldn't let him soothe the festering wound I inflicted on myself all those years ago. Not here, not in front of Fox Hole.

I turn, shoving my hand into my purse and riflingaround for the only thing that I can think of to break the tension and bring us back to reality.

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