Page 32 of When We Were Younger

"Stop saying 'one', IronDad. It's weird," Kira says, crinkling her nose as she pushes up and off the bed. Dean lets me out of his grasp, and I hand him my nearly empty mug.

"Did you bring those black leggings with the white stripe down the side that you wore in the picture you posted from Griffith Park a few weeks ago? They made your booty go POP!" Keith says, smacking his lips in a popping noise and miming grabbing at ass cheeks in the air. I toss a pillow at him, but it falls short. The four of them are already at the door.

"Call me in if you want me to do your hair," Keeks says as she shuts the door behind her. I decide against that, throwing my hair up into a messy bun instead and pulling out a few pieces in the front to frame my face. I open the drawer where I've placed most of my clothes and pull out the black and white leggings. I slide them on and check myself out in the mirror.

Keith is right, they make my ass look fantastic.

I throw on a long-sleeve white tee, tuck my leggings into my white crew socks, and slide on the boots I packed for an occasion just like this.

Well, not just like this. I thought I might do some hiking while I was in Tennessee, I just didn't think it would be with Stephen.

I hear the unmistakable crunch of gravel under truck tires, and I steal a glance out the window. Stephen's metal gray Ford pickup truck comes to a stop right in front of the house, and I can see Daisy May jumping from the front seat to the back. I grab my phone, expecting a 'Here!' text any second. What I don't expect is Stephen opening his truck door and jumping out. I watch as he roots around in the back of seat of the truck, pulling out a pink bakery box. Is hegoing to sit out there and eat donuts while he waits for me? Odd choice, but I respect the dedication to sweets, I guess. Maybe if I'm quick enough, he'll share with me.

I tuck my phone into my back pocket and pull on a puffer vest before winding down the stairs. There's a knock at the front door as I descend into the entryway, and Jay rushes to answer it with two yapping dachshunds at his feet.

"What are you doing?" I ask before anyone else has the chance to utter so much as a greeting. Stephen is on the other side of the door, bakery box in one hand, the other outstretched and mid-shake with Jay.

"I'm picking you up for our hike," he says as Jay pulls him through the door.

"I know that," I huff. "Why are you at the door?" I cross my arms over my chest and inwardly cringe at myself for sounding like a petulant teenager.

"Because I am a gentleman, and a gentleman picks his date up at the door. What did you expect? An ‘I'm here’ text while I waited for you in the car?" he asks, lifting one eyebrow at me.

I mean, yeah. That's exactly what I expected. And the eyebrow thing. Why is that so sexy? So the man can isolate the muscles on one side of his face enough to lift a single brow. That should not be something that gets my very expensive La Perla panties in a twist, and yet…

"Okay fine, but don't you think bringing me baked goods is overkill?" I ask, taking the pink box from his hand. He swipes it right back and hands it to Keith,who, along with Kira and Dean, materialized a moment ago.

"The baked goods are not for you. They're for Jay and Keith. Gentleman, remember?" he says, pointing a finger at his chest. "A gentleman also brings a gesture of good faith to a lady's chaperones when he comes to call on her. I picked these up at Miss Pattie's this morning. I'm glad to see that I was right, and chocolate glazed is still a favorite on McKenna Mountain."

I look over to said McKenna's. All four of them have a donut in their face, munching away as they watch this scene unfold between us. The sugary smell invades my nostrils, and my stomach rumbles. Damn. Teenage petulance or not, I kind of wish one of those donuts was for me. I shake my head and turn my attention back to Stephen.

"Chaperone? Call on me? Who are you and what have you done with the boy who thought 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?' was a line from a Taylor Swift track in middle school?”

"First of all, T-Swift could write Romeo and Juliet, but Shakespeare couldn't write Love Story, that's just a fact. And second, I've been binge watching a lot of Bridgerton lately, sue me," Stephen smirks, and my stomach does a terribly inconvenient somersault.

"I love Bridgerton," Dean says around a mouthful of donut. I cringe when little chocolate spittle goes flying.

Stephen jerks a thumb in Dean's direction.

"See, Bridgerton is amazing. Now, is there anything else you'd like to comment on before we go? Is my hairtoo long? Will the green in this flannel going to clash with the bare and brown trees?"

I eye him up and down. Part of me feels bad for needling him. It's not his fault that hisgentlemanlinesscaught me off guard. I can't remember the last time a man came to pick me up at my door. Naturally I expected to rush out the door to meet him with little fanfare.

The other part of me, though? That part is relishing in the teasing. The easy back and forth that we've fallen back into. That part wins out.

"Now that you mention it," I say, casting a cheeky look down to his shoes. "Those boots have seen better days. All this work to impress me and you couldn't even put on a pair of shoes from this century?"

I shriek when he grabs my arm and whips my body into his, pulling me into a tight, snug hug. My face buries itself into his chest like it has a mind of its own, and I inhale his warm, piney scent as I feel his chin rest on top of my head.

"I missed you, sweetheart," he whispers.

I don't know if he means he's missed me since the tree lighting or just in general, but I've missed him. I've missed him every second of every day. It sat with me like a dull ache for years, something I grew so accustomed to living with that I often forgot that it was there. But now, the ache is a freshly picked scab, ripe and sensitive and painful to touch. I don't know if they make Band-Aids big enough to cover this wound again when I leave.

We say our goodbyes and he walks me to his truck. When he opens the door to help me in, I find a white paper bag dotted with grease spots waiting for me on the passenger side seat.

"What is this?" I ask as I settle into the truck and pick up the bag.

"C'mon. You think I'd go to Miss Pattie's andnotpick up a strawberry sprinkle donut for you? I'm not an amateur," he says as he hoists himself up on the truck step and starts to fiddle with my seatbelt. It takes me a second to realize what he's doing but he's…

---