He takes another step toward me, and the closeness of him ignites every nerve—every fiber of my body—making my skin quiver and ache to feel his touch again. He extends his arm, staring into my eyes.
“Hello,” he says with his palm open like he wants to shake my hand. A first introduction. “I just happened to be traveling along the Italian coast, when I noticed the most incredible girl I’ve ever seen sitting beside the ocean, taking photographs. And I was wondering if I could take you out on a date—nothing fancy, of course. I hope you’re not that kind of girl.” His dark eyes are so familiar, glinting in the afternoon light.
I stare down at his hand, suspended in the void between us. I want so desperately to touch him, to slide my fingers along his, to say something that will make him mine again—but for some reason I can’t. I don’t. I’m too afraid.
After a moment, he clears his throat. “Okay.” And he drops his arm, glancing away from me. “I’m sorry I came here... I won’t try to find you again. I love you, Charlotte. I hope you have a happy life—the life you deserve. Because you deserve a good one.”
He turns away—his shoulders slumped, every line in his body defeated—and moves back up the stone street toward the center of town.
A distant memory surfaces, itching up to the front of my thoughts. A few years ago, Carlos and I had a ten-dollar palm reader tell us our fortunes on Venice Beach. She said that my fate line was divided, that I would have two paths and I would need to choose which life I wanted. At the time, I thought it was stupid, something only my mother would have believed in. But maybe she was right. Maybe the choice comes down to this: a life with Tate or a life without him.
And for all the pain and heartache... I still love him.
I run—my heart suddenly exploding with fear that I’m about to lose him again. I grab his arm as soon as he’s within reach and I feel his muscles tense beneath my touch. The world spins, tilts off axis—everything shuddering in slow motion—and he turns back to face me.
I can’t lose him again.
His fingers find my face, clearing away the tears that stream across my skin. He lets out a slow exhale, and his eyes light up once more. I lift onto my toes and press my lips to his and he kisses me back, pulling me deeper against him. And it’s all the kisses we’ve missed: the lost months, the nights I lay awake in my rented room, windows open to let in the ocean air, thinking of him. His fingers tangle in my hair, his mouth drawing me closer, and he kisses me like he won’t ever let me go—not for a thousand years, not for anything. And I don’t want him to. There are no boundaries now, no edicts, no limitations—only a beginning.
This moment is our first kiss. Our first I love you. Our first forever.