44. Things remembered
THINGS REMEMBERED
T he valet handed her the ticket, but Spring barely noticed.
The restaurant looked exactly the same – the one he’d taken her to for their six-month anniversary.
Same low amber lighting. Same dark wood.
Same piano Cameron had once played. Same quiet elegance that once felt impossibly grown when she was seventeen and sneaking in on borrowed confidence.
The kind of place that made you sit up straighter without asking.
She could feel it in the air when she stepped inside the building. She hadn’t been this nervous in years. She stopped and scanned for him.
Preston was already there, standing near the bar, black jacket hanging off the back of the chair, sleeves of his blue silk shirt rolled up just enough to feel casual without trying. He was laughing at something the bartender said, but the moment he looked up, the sound left his body.
His breath caught so visibly it almost embarrassed her for him. His eyes traveled, slow, reverent, from her heels, up the line of red silk, to her face, like he was trying to memorize her again in real time.
For a split second, neither of them moved.
It felt like that moment right before two storms collide – quiet, charged, inevitable. A beautiful disaster waiting to happen.
She took a step forward.
So did he.
They met halfway, smiling like people who had lived whole other lives but somehow landed right back where they started.
“Hey,” he greeted, soft.
“Hey,” she replied, suddenly seventeen again in all the worst and best ways.
“You look…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I knew that dress was gonna be a problem.”
She laughed. “You sent it. This feels like a setup.”
He shrugged playfully. “I like living on the edge.”
They took their seats. Same booth. Same corner.
Spring ran her fingers along the table. “Last time we were here, I was so nervous you weren’t gonna be able to pay.”
Preston chuckled. “Cameo had our backs. But I was down for the dine-and-dash.”
“Me too. I was wearing heels I couldn’t even run in.”
“You know,” he said. “We could still do it… for old time’s sake”
She arched a brow. “You don’t have the money?”
“My card might decline,” he joked. “Starving artist and all.”
She laughed, shaking her head. It was too easy, like no time passed at all. “You sang right over there,” she recalled suddenly.
He looked at her, surprised. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything about that day,” she confessed quietly.
He leaned back, thoughtful. “You wanna hear something wild?”
She nodded.
He stood up.
“Preston—” she started.
He just smiled. “Trust me.”
He walked over to the pianist, said something low. The man nodded, fingers already finding the keys. The opening notes drift through the room.
My chérie amour…
Spring’s breath left her body.
Preston turned back toward her and started to sing. No cameras. No production. No performance voice. Just him.
The restaurant faded away. Conversations hushed. Phones came out, but she didn’t notice any of it. Because he wasn’t singing to the room.
He was singing to her .
Every word landed like memory, like apology – like a promise he never had the language for back then. She felt seventeen again: knees tucked under herself in a booth too big, heart too open, believing love could be simple if you just wanted it badly enough.
And suddenly she knew. Beyond all doubt. Beyond their professional relationship. Beyond if their reconnection was real or grief induced.
She’d never stopped loving him. Not really.
When he finished, the room erupted – applause, cheers, a few whistles—but it all felt distant. He was already back in front of her, eyes searching hers like he needed to know she was real.
She stood without thinking, before fear could catch up, before logic could interfere.
She cupped his face and kissed him.
The crowd lost its mind, but Spring barely heard it.
All she knew was this: when they collide, it’s messy, reckless, undeniable. And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t want to run from the wreckage. She wanted to stay right here.
After they’d returned to their seats and enjoyed their meals, they left the restaurant with the night still buzzing in their ears, laughter trailing behind them like an afterimage.
The city felt softer somehow, lights blurred, air warmer.
Spring pressed her palm against the car hood and finally let herself breathe.
She’d been wrestling with this truth for years. Turning it over, tucking it away. Pretending it was nostalgia instead of longing.
But he was right. Life is short. And the only time she ever felt this alive – this open, this unguarded – was when it was him.
Every day didn’t have to be promised. It just had to be real.
She turned toward him. He was watching her the way he always had – like she was the one he’d chosen.
When they got inside her car, there was no rush, just gravity pulling them together.
Hands familiar. Kisses unlearned and relearned all at once.
The kind of closeness that feels less like discovery and more like coming home.
The moment they got to the apartment, Preston licked her neck slowly as he moved to pull her closer, sliding his hands up to her breasts.
She moaned in pleasure, wrapping her hands around his broad shoulders while he pressed his now growing bulge against her.
He sat back as she pushed down the straps of her red dress, letting it fall to the floor, exposing her perfect body.
“Damn, I can never get enough of how perfect you look,” he smiled as she straddled him. He slid off her red panties and, without a second thought, pulled her onto his shoulders and began to taste her.
“Oh god,” she moaned, the pleasure overwhelming.
He persisted as he wrapped his lips around her clit, impatient to make her cum. It wasn’t long before he got his wish. She shook uncontrollably as she climaxed.
It would be the first of many orgasms that night as they made their way through Spring’s house, first in the living room, then the bedroom. By the third session, his dick had found new ways to make her cum, and she loved every moment of it.
She screamed as they went from making love in the kitchen to fucking in the shower. He pounded her, grabbing her as she came and the heat from the water intensified her orgasm.
In the bedroom. This time he was on top of her, thrusting his rock-hard dick inside her tight, wet pussy until she came again.
On the floor, she made him cum twice, once with her mouth, and once inside of her as she took him from behind, watching their reflection in the mirror.
When their energy ran out, the night unfolded quietly, intensely, like something sacred they don’t need words for.
And when it was over, when they were tangled together in the afterglow, Spring reached for her phone as a message lit up the screen.
From Preston. Will you be my girlfriend? Y for yes, N for no.
She laughed, soft, surprised, full. She typed back: M .
There was a pause, then another message popped up.
?...
She turned to him, finding him already looking at her, confused and hopeful all at once.
“Maybe,” she said.
He exhaled, setting his phone down like he didn’t want to negotiate the moment away.
Spring rolled toward him, cupping his face, and kissing him – slow, certain. “I love you,” she said, finally letting the words exist out loud.
His eyes softened. His hands pulled her closer. “I love you, too.”
They kiss again, sealing something new – not reckless, not na?ve, but chosen.
Not a return to the past.
A beginning.