Chapter 21: The First Kiss

The man rested his head on his arm, gazing at the sky.

His profile was sharp, his expression faraway. He seemed more real in that moment than he ever had before.

His jawline was clear and smooth, his profile as beautiful as a sculpture.

If I were the type to sketch, I’d have drawn him right there—capturing the quiet strength and vulnerability in the line of his jaw.

Derek was already very handsome, but Jason was even better!

For the first time in years, I felt butterflies in my stomach. The kind I thought I’d lost for good.

Maybe sensing my gaze, he turned and met my eyes.

His eyes were warm, patient, searching for something I didn’t know I was ready to give.

I don’t remember who looked away first. All I know is that, from that day on, something subtly changed between us.

The air between us crackled with new possibility. The next time our hands brushed, it was no accident.

The day our relationship changed, I went hiking with Jason.

It was one of those crisp mornings when the world feels full of promise. We packed sandwiches and set off for the old trail behind the town, trading stories and laughter as we climbed.

On the way back down, the weather suddenly changed and it poured rain.

Thunder rolled in out of nowhere, the sky darkening as sheets of rain soaked us through in seconds. Mud squelched under our sneakers, and rain dripped from the brim of Jason’s old Braves cap. We ran, laughing and breathless, shoes squelching in the mud.

We returned to the house, both drenched.

We shivered on the porch, dripping water everywhere, and for a moment, I forgot about everything except the wild joy of being alive.

That night, I had a high fever and broke a mug when I got up to take my medicine.

I fumbled with the bottle, the world spinning, and the crash of ceramic woke Jason from a dead sleep.

Jason broke in!

The door slammed open, Jason’s face pale with worry. He knelt by my side, hands gentle as he checked for cuts.

I don’t know if it was an illusion or a memory error, but I clearly saw that, the moment he entered, he looked terrified.

For a split second, I thought he might cry. His fear was raw, unfiltered—nothing like the calm façade he wore for the world.

But when he saw me, he obviously breathed a sigh of relief.

His shoulders dropped, and he let out a shaky laugh, brushing my hair off my forehead. “Don’t scare me like that, Tessa.”

The illness hit me hard. I was bedridden for five days, and Jason took care of me the whole time.

He brought me soup, changed my sheets, sat by my side reading old mystery novels aloud. Every small act felt like a declaration of love.

He moved his equipment into my room, and I found out he was a singer!

His guitar appeared by my bed, and sometimes I’d wake up to the sound of his voice, low and soothing. The walls of my little room felt less lonely than ever before.

“So you’re always ready to leave?” I asked, holding a cup of hot water.

I watched him pack his mic stand and lyric notebook, wondering how anyone could live with one foot always out the door.

He didn’t answer, but asked, “You want me to take off?”

He looked at me, a challenge in his eyes. I realized I didn’t have an answer, not yet.

I didn’t reply.

Instead, I reached for his hand, letting the silence say everything I couldn’t.

He took the cup from my hand and suddenly kissed me.

The world shrank to the press of his lips, the steady beat of his heart beneath my hand. It was everything I’d ever wanted and never dared to hope for. For the first time, I felt wanted, not just needed. I was chosen, not just convenient. My skin tingled, and I knew I was finally alive again—after so many years of just existing.