Page 69 of Last First Kiss
The voice freezes me. I haven’t heard it in months, but I know it like a scar you forget about until it’s touched.
My stomach clenches, a cold rush of panic floods my chest. I pull back from Clara enough to turn, slow and stiff, every part of me bracing.
“Mia,” I breathe out, the name catching hard in my throat.
Her dark eyes lock on me, and a chill runs down my spine. They’re full of judgment, bitterness, and maybe even a little hurt. But it’s buried beneath layers of indifference she’s practiced well.
Clara’s hand tightens around mine. She pulls me closer, stepping in front of me and cupping my face. “You okay?” she whispers.
I squeeze Clara’s hand, grounding myself before nodding. But it’s shaky, and we both know it.
“It’s always the ones they tell you not to worry about,”Mia says, looking straight at me, then flicking her gaze to Clara.
Clara stiffens beside me.
“Mia, don’t ... please.” The words come out way softer than I want, and I hate how small I sound.
“Is this why you wanted to stop seeing each other? To be withClara?”
Her voice isn’t loud, but I hear it clearly.
“What? No, of course not.” I step toward her without thinking, instinct pulling me forward, wanting—needing—to reassure her. But Clara’s hand is still laced in mine. That simple touch stops me cold.
When Clara lets go, my heart feels heavy with the loss. Like I messed up without meaning to.
“Can we talk? Privately?” Mia asks, her eyes practically drilling a hole through Clara.
I turn to Clara, unsure.
“Go,” she says, her voice steady and her smile tight.
I reach for her, cupping her face in my hands, and kiss her, trying to pour every bit of reassurance I can into it, trying to say,This isn’t me walking away.
She kisses me back hard, fiercely, like she’s afraid this might be the last time.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Mia snaps.
I pull away from Clara, my forehead resting against hers for a second longer. Then I turn to Mia, who shakes her head at me before taking my hand and guiding me toward a table near the bar.
I glance back at Clara, my stomach twisting. She’s surrounded by our friends now, one hand rubbing her forehead.
She’s not looking at me. And somehow, that hurts most of all.
I turn back to find Mia’s eyes watching me. Softer than they were around Clara.
“It sucks,” she says quietly, voice low but raw, “seeing you with her.”
“Why? You broke up with me, remember?” I try to keep my voice steady despite the knot in my chest.
“I know,” she says, shrugging it off, “but since we stopped talking these last few months, I’ve realized I still care ... a lot.” Her voice cracks as she reaches out slowly, her hand finding mine. The touch is warm, and it makes the pit in my stomach grow. “I want us back.”
“Mia,” I whisper, blinking back tears as my heart clenches so hard it might shatter.
“I should’ve reached out sooner, but I was scared,” she confesses, her thumb gently stroking my hand. “Seeing you with Clara ... it made me realize I had to tell you.” She pauses, biting her lip. “I want us to try again. If you’re even a little open to it, I’m here.”
My throat is tight, caught between emotions I don’t know how to sort out. I stare down at Mia’s hand wrapped around mine, the warmth of her touch stirring something deep inside me. For years, I loved Mia. I wanted her always, forever. Until a few months ago, that was the only truth I knew. That is, until Clara ... What she and I have is tender, delicate, and real in a way that’s both beautiful and terrifying. It’s a love that can grow without burning me down, that fills a space in me I thought would forever be empty.
I want Mia’s fire, but I crave Clara’s calm. I feel the weight of it crushing down, my mind a storm of “what ifs” and “maybes.” How do I choose between the comfort of a love I’ve known for years and the promise of something fresh, something soft and real?
