When We Meet Again by Kristin Harmel Page A

morning.
    “So what’s up?” Scott asked. “I was just headed out to Casey’s, actually. Dan is playing there tonight. You remember him?”
    “Yeah. Tell him hi for me.” Dan was a friend of Scott’s and a talented local musician who often played acoustic guitar at Scott’s favorite bar. “So . . . I was actually calling to ask you a favor.”
    “A favor, hmm?” Scott’s tone had turned playful. “It’s going to cost you.”
    “Are you flirting with me?”
    He laughed. “So what if I am?”
    “I thought you were dating Lila.”
    “We broke up a few months ago. I’m single again, in case that information interests you.” Yes, he was definitely flirting. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I was still attracted to him, but we had obviously crashed and burned the first time around. Wasn’t that enough to warrant keeping my distance now?
    “So what’s this favor?” Scott asked after a pause.
    “I need you to run a database search for me, if you don’t mind.”
    “Ah, so you’re calling about business.”
    “Well, it’s actually more of a personal thing.”
    “Now I’m intrigued.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Want to meet me at Casey’s in a few minutes? I’ll buy you a drink, and you can tell me all about it.”
    “How about breakfast instead? My treat.”
    “Make it Dexter’s tomorrow morning at nine, and you have a deal.”
    I smiled. It had been our favorite brunch spot when we were dating. “I’ll see you there.”
    “Great. And Emily?”
    “Yeah?”
    “I miss you.”
    I paused, surprised. But did he mean it, or were they just empty words? “I miss you too,” I said, not entirely sure whether I was telling the truth. “See you in the morning.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
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    I woke up the next day thinking of Catherine, as I often did. I went for a run around Lake Eola, and as my feet pounded the pavement, I let my mind wander back to the night Nick and I had conceived her. The ridiculous irony of it was that we’d only slept together once; we were like one of those this-could-happen-to-you after-school specials. I’d told my mother two days later that I’d lost my virginity, because we’d had the kind of relationship where we shared everything, even the things you weren’t supposed to tell a parent. “Just be careful,” she’d said, and later, after she had died and I thought back on the conversation, I had the strange feeling she could see into the future. “The decisions you make now will impact you forever. And you’re still so young, Emily. If he really loves you, he’ll be there when you both grow up. No reason to rush things.”
    But it hadn’t felt like a rush. It had felt inevitable. Nick was different from other guys our age; he was funny and a little nerdy and wore his heart on his sleeve. While other guys seemed to delight in pressuring girls to go to third base and then ignoring them, Nick wrote me endearingly corny poems and drew little cartoon pictures of us, which he slipped into my locker between classes. Every kiss with him felt magical, because he always took his time, cupping my cheek with one hand and resting the other gently on the back of my head, as if he was cradling something delicate and important. His mouth on mine was always tender, deliberate, and sometimes, although my body was responding and my heartbeat quickening, I forced myself to pause and savor the sweet slowness of the moment, the fact that Nick always seemed to treat each kiss like the very first one.
    On the night we’d slept together—in his bedroom, when his parents were out at a work function for his dad’s office—he’d asked me if I was sure I wanted to do this.
    “I love you, Emily,” he’d said, his pupils dilated and his voice husky as he looked into my eyes. “I don’t want you to feel any pressure. We don’t have to do this.”
    But I could tell that he wanted to as much as I did, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that this was the right thing.